Into the Dark Night
by tsuki-llama
Summary: When the true stars disappear from the night sky, falsity breeds in the dark and trust is a thing of the past. The lives of two young children in China are forever changed when humanity is stripped away from them. And for a barmaid in London, time flies but leaves its shadow behind.
1. Tian I

**Author's Note**

This is the back story for Hei and Amber that's been my head-canon for a while, and what I had in mind when I wrote both _One Hour at a Time_ and _Distractions_ - though you don't have to have read either of those to read this, since this is the prequel.

Before jumping into the first chapter, I want to make a couple of notes.

_Source material_: There is not a lot of information about the first appearance of the Gates or the conflict in South America given to us in the show, which is part of what makes the back story so fascinating. In writing this story, I'm taking what details I can pick up from the anime and using them in a way that I feel best tells a coherent story. I should note here that I don't consider the manga, OVAs, or season 2 to be canon, so whatever details those give us, I'm ignoring (no big loss). Because this piece covers the five-year span between the first appearance of the Gates and the disaster at Heaven's Gate, there will be some big time jumps here and there, and (fair warning, shippers), it will be a while before Amber and Hei actually meet.

_Accuracy_: My philosophy in both reading and writing is that in order to be believable, a story or a character has to be realistic. That applies to fantasy and science fiction just as much as it does to a crime drama or a romance. So, I will try to describe the supernatural events as I would imagine they might _actually_ happen, given the real constraints of physics and reality. This means that you might not see some scenes that you are expecting, because I don't think that they could literally happen, and the show may or may not have meant them to be literal in the first place. Hopefully, the picture that I paint will be satisfactory and believable. Basically, leave your expectations for this story at the door...

_Names_: The English spelling of Hei's sister's name in the anime is "Pai". I'm pretty sure that her name is intended to be the Chinese word for "white", the official pinyin spelling of which is "Bai", so that is the spelling that I will be going with. We know from the final episode that her real name is "Xing", which means "star". Xing's age is 9 at the start of the story.

We don't know Hei's real name. I chose the name "Tian" for him, for a few reasons. 1) "Tian" means "sky" or "heaven", which is a good complement to "star". 2) The name "sky" has connotations of openness, innocence, and honesty, which fits his pre-Hei character. 3) I like the way it sounds in English. And 4), my favorite reason, I'm not going to elaborate on here, though if you've read _Distractions_ (Ch. 24), you've already seen it. Tian is 12.

(As _Dear4Life_ pointed out to me previously, another writer also used "Tian" for Hei's name - great minds think alike =) That author was _desy_ in the story _DTB: When the stars vanished_. Check it out if you haven't already - it's good, though unfinished.)

And of course, we know nothing about Amber's back story, so I made it up whole-cloth. I want her to be an actual, three-dimensional person before she becomes a contractor, and her back story will play into her overall character arc. She is 34 at the start.

_Year_: 1998.

_Structure_: I will try to balance out the Hei chapters with the Amber chapters. But because I'm writing the events chronologically, there will be times where you'll get, say, three Hei chapters in a row and no Amber, or vice versa, especially in the first half of the story. After that, things should even out more.

_Posting schedule_: Due to the fact that I have way less time now than I did when writing my previous stories, I won't be able to update as frequently as I've done in the past. I will do my best to post one 2500k+-word chapter a week; if posting starts to slow down, don't worry, it's not because I'm abandoning the story! I have nearly the entire thing outlined; it'll just be a matter of finding the time to actually write out and revise each chapter.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own DtB. I do claim ownership of Tian, Xing, Brigid, all my OCs, and everything that happens before the appearance of Hell's Gate.

...I think that's everything. As always, thanks for reading, and please leave me your thoughts and comments in the reviews!

* * *

><p><em>News/Astronomy/30.05.98: Extreme activity observed on the surface of the Sun. This year marks the peak, or "solar maximum", of the eleven-year solar cycle. Increased occurrences of sunspots, the dark blotches on the photosphere that result from local changes in magnetic pressure, are to be expected during every solar maximum period. This year there is an unprecedented number of sunspots clustered around a single location on the Sun's surface. _

_Dr. Alford, a heliophysicist at NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory, assures us that this is nothing too far out of the ordinary. _

_"It is normal for sunspots to form in the higher latitudes of the Sun at the beginning of the solar cycle," she says, "and then migrate towards the equator as the solar maximum approaches. It _is_ strange to see so many, and all grouped together, almost like a giant eyeball. It's a little creepy - but nothing to be concerned about." _

_The latter half of this century has seen much higher than average levels of sunspots; the last period in which the Sun was this active was over 8,000 years ago./_

* * *

><p>"Brother, look over here!"<p>

"Xing, wait!" But his little sister was too excited to wait. Tian felt a moment of panic as Xing's hand slipped from his sweaty grasp and she disappeared into the crowd.

It was a sweltering day by the river, yet that hadn't stopped what seemed like most of the city of Xi'an from turning out for the final day of the Dragon Boat Festival. The banks of the Bahe River were overgrown with colorful vendor stalls and the streets were packed with throngs of people. It was into one of these stalls that Xing had vanished; Tian spied her bright red and gold costume in the shadowy interior with a sigh of relief.

"Don't run away like that, you could get lost," he chided her.

Xing hardly seemed to hear him. "Sorry, Brother, but look! Aren't they pretty?"

Tian looked around the stall. The temporary plywood walls displayed beautifully illustrated fans; brightly colored kites cut in the shapes of fantastical animals - dragons, tigers, peacocks - hung gracefully from the ceiling. Painted ceramic opera masks smiled (or frowned) up at them from cloth-covered tables.

"I wish I hadn't bought that scarf now," Xing said, looking up at a framed ink drawing of Bai Suzhen, the White Snake Lady.

"You have a poster of that at home," Tian reminded her. "Anyway, you didn't have enough money to buy anything here, even if you hadn't gotten the scarf."

His sister sighed, but didn't turn to leave the shop. She was going to be miserable for the rest of the afternoon if she didn't walk out with something from this stall, Tian could tell. He scanned the tables until he saw a bin at the back. Xing followed him over to it.

"Ooh!" she exclaimed. The bin was full of cheap decorations and party favors from the past new year's celebrations. Most of the items depicted the Tiger, the year they were just halfway through. It was the year that Tian had been born in; hence, this entire year was supposed to be unlucky for him, but he didn't believe in superstitions like that. His cousin did though, so he'd hung a red-tasseled medallion in his bedroom window to keep her from fretting. Red kept the evil spirits at bay. Xing was merely fascinated by the celebrations and seeing each new zodiac animal. Each year she asked when it would be her turn, the year of the Snake; the unlucky aspect of it didn't seem to frighten her at all.

"Look!" She'd been digging through the bin, and now pulled out a woven, red string bracelet with a little green plastic snake charm hanging from it. "It's so cute!"

Tian smiled; the fake-jade charm wasn't the cartoonish character you sometimes saw, but was molded into the realistic form of a viper about to strike. Only Xing would find it cute.

He looked at the price. "Only twenty-five _yuan_."

Xing's face fell. "I don't have that much."

"I do, I think." Tian dug around in the left pocket of his wushu uniform and pulled out a few bills; his right pocket held the money that their mother had given them to buy a snack - before Xing had gotten sidetracked. He counted it out. "Fifty-two _yuan_."

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Xing's attitude. "Is that enough?" she asked, eyes brightening.

Tian sighed patiently. "Xing, you learned how to add money ages ago."

His sister's mouth moved silently as she did the math in her head. "It's enough for _two_!" she exclaimed at last, then immediately began digging through the bin again. "Oh...I can't find any tigers. But look, there's Jiang's and 'Tu's signs!"

"Give me Jiao-tu's," he told her. Xing handed him the snake and another bracelet, one that had a jade rabbit charm. "Not that one," Tian said, and dug around in the bin himself. He found what he was looking for at the very bottom; then he paid for the two bracelets and helped Xing tie hers around her wrist. She beamed at it.

"Can we go eat now?" Tian asked. His stomach had been rumbling steadily for the past ten minutes.

"Yeah, let's go find Jiang and 'Tu!" Xing darted out the stall ahead of him, and they picked their way through the crowd once again.

~~~~o~~~~

Tian thought that he must have been waiting in line for almost an hour by the time he reached the front. The bills that he handed over to the man in the stall were damp with the sweat from his hands.

"Change," the man grunted, dropping a few coins on the counter. He turned his back on the boy briefly; when he faced him again, there were two ice cream cones in his hands. "Here ya go - enjoy. Next!"

Tian scooted out of the line with the two cones, over to the side of the stall where Xing was waiting. His sister was bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands clasped in eager anticipation. With the little red cap perched on top of her short black hair, she looked like one of those trained dancing monkeys.

"Careful, don't spill any on your costume," he told her, and handed over the vanilla cone.

"I won't," Xing promised. She accepted the cone, and Tian smiled as she took one tiny lick. He had no doubt that she'd be cautious; she'd taken extra care of her costume all day.

"It'll melt if you don't eat it faster," he said.

"I don't want my brain to freeze, that hurts."

Tian was about to take a taste of his own green tea flavor cone when a shove from behind sent him sprawling. The ice cream splattered onto the dirt in front of him.

"Watch where you're standing, dweeb," a mocking voice called down at him. Tian looked up; three boys in orange wushu uniforms stood grinning down at him. Honglian and his friends; no surprise there.

"Brother!" Xing gasped. She turned on the older boys. "Leave him alone, you meanies!"

They laughed. "Maybe you should let your baby sister do all your fighting for you," Honglian said.

Tian pushed himself up into a sitting position and dusted the dirt from his hands. "Yeah, maybe," he said with a half-hearted laugh, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

Honglian stepped forward; Tian tensed, preparing to dodge a kick. But one of the other boys tapped Honglian's shoulder and gestured off to the side. "See you around, dweeb," Honglian said, and the three orange-clad boys moved off into the crowd.

A moment later a boy in a black wushu uniform matching Tian's appeared. "Those dog farts," Jiang said, glaring after Honglian. "Are you alright?" He held out his hand, but Tian didn't take it.

"I can get up by myself," he said. His uniform was covered in dirt. He got to his feet and dusted it off as best he could.

Jiang frowned at him. "They only pick on you because they know you won't fight back. Come on, let's go after them - two of us and three of them, that's close enough to even." If the bully had been on his own, Tian didn't doubt that Jiang would have run after him and picked a fight. He'd probably even win it; Honglian was older and bigger, but Jiang was a better fighter.

"Nah, it's alright. We have to take the girls over to the dance stage soon anyway." Tian looked down at the dirty, rapidly melting ice cream. He didn't have enough money left for another, and he was still starving.

"Sometimes I can't believe we're related," Jiang muttered, but Tian ignored him. His cousin was always saying things like that, but he never meant them.

Xing tugged at Tian's sleeve. "Here," she said when he looked at her. She was holding out her ice cream cone.

"That's yours."

"I know. But yours fell, and you wanted ice cream more than me."

Tian smiled at her. Xing had been begging for ice cream all afternoon. "I'll ask Mom for more money later. Better finish that before you have to go dance."

Xing gave him a sad look, but started eating again.

"Jiang, where'd you go?" an anguished wail cut through the noise of the crowd.

Jiang rolled his eyes. "Over here, dummy!" he shouted. A moment later, a little girl in a red tunic like Xing's pushed her way through the crowd to where they were still standing by the ice cream stall. There was a dark smear across the front of her costume, obscuring the scrolling gold pattern.

"What did you do?" Jiang asked his sister.

Jiao-tu sniffed. "I tripped and spilled my drink. Now everyone is going to stare at me."

"Can't even walk right - maybe you should try hopping instead, Little Rabbit."

Jiao-tu slugged her brother's shoulder as hard as she could - but considering that she was two years younger than him and no bigger than Xing, who was younger still, the punch had little effect. "Don't call me that, stupid! I'm not a rabbit, I'm a dragon!"

Jiang just rolled his eyes again. "If you say so."

Tian tried to hide a smile. "Jiao-tu, maybe if you wore your glasses, you wouldn't trip so much."

"I hate my glasses." She had that scowl on her face that meant that nothing anyone said was going to cheer her up.

"You could take off your tunic and just wear the white dress," Xing suggested. "Then no one would know you ruined it."

Jiao-tu crossed her arms, and there were tears in her eyes threatening to fall. "I'd still look different from everyone else."

"Here, Brother." Xing pushed her half-eaten ice cream cone at Tian. He took it in surprise; the melting ice cream ran over his fingers. Then his sister pulled her tunic over her head, revealing the plain white dress beneath.

"There," she told her cousin. "Now you won't look different from me."

Jiao-tu sniffed and rubbed at her nose. "Really?"

"Sure. We'll tell Miss Fa we forgot them, she won't mind," Xing said.

"You don't think we'll get in trouble?"

"'Course not, it'll be okay!" Xing sounded confident, but Tian wasn't so sure that the girls' teacher would let two of her students on stage without their costumes. But he didn't say anything; Xing's assurances were at the very least preventing their cousin from bursting into tears.

Alright," Jiao-tu said, the beginnings of a smile creeping onto her face at last. She pulled off her soiled tunic and held it away from herself, as if the stain would leap from the red fabric onto the white if it got too close. How she'd managed to keep from staining the dress in the first place, Tian had no idea.

Jiang put out an impatient hand. "Give them to me," he said as if it was the most trying task in the world. "I'll hold them until you're done."

The girls passed over their crimson costumes; Xing grabbed Jiao-tu's hand and led her away. "Come on, we're going to be late if we don't hurry!"

"Xing, your ice cream is melting!" Tian called after his sister.

She gave him a bright smile. "You should finish it fast then!"

Jiao-tu was smiling again as they disappeared into the crowd.

Tian sighed in exasperation. Still, if she wasn't going to eat it, he shouldn't let it go to waste.

The ice cream was mercifully cool in his mouth. They'd been at the festival all day; there was just so much to see and do. He and Jiang had performed in the wushu competition in the morning - Jiang had won yet another award in the _sanda_ sparring round, and Tian had nearly placed with his _taolu_ routine. Then it had been a lunch of traditional dumplings and a full afternoon of visiting all the different souvenir stands and vendor stalls. A famous drum team was playing the festival, and they'd managed to see most of it before Tian's stomach had started growling so loudly that everyone in the vicinity could hear it over the drums. His mother had then given them all money to go find snacks before the girls' dance performance. The ice cream wasn't exactly filling, but it was better than nothing.

"You really should be nicer to your sister," Tian said as he and Jiang followed behind the girls.

Jiang snorted. "But she's so annoying. You're lucky, you got the nice one for your sister."

"Maybe she's nice because I'm nice to her first?"

Jiang aimed a punch at Tian's shoulder, but he dodged it, laughing.

"The Little Rabbit was born annoying. Anyway, she knows I'm only joking with her." Jiang frowned a little, then called up ahead to his sister, "Tu! You know I'm only teasing you, right?"

Jiao-tu looked over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue.

~~~~o~~~~

The dance performances were being held on a small stage out of the way of the major events, but had still drawn a moderate crowd. Xing and Jiao-tu disappeared around the back where the performers were lining up.

"How are we going to find everyone?" Tian wondered out loud.

Jiang shrugged. "Just look around, I guess."

They pushed their way through the clusters of people, Jiang occasionally standing up on his toes in a vain attempt to peer over a sea of black-haired heads. Tian scanned the crowd along with his cousin. He caught a glimpse of bright orange wushu uniforms and flinched instinctively; but a second look proved that it wasn't Honglian or his friends. Not that they would try anything with Jiang around.

"Look, there's your dad!"

Tian followed his cousin's pointing finger; his father was a couple of inches taller than the average person in the crowd and was easy to spot. Li Xinkun's children had inherited his height. Though younger by a few months, Tian had always been taller than Jiang, and Xing was already the same height as Jiao-tu, who was Xing's elder by one year.

The rest of the family was there as well: Tian's mother, Jiang's parents, and their grandparents, waiting for the performance to start. Grandfather was smoking his pipe, the smoke forming a sweet, spicy cloud around him. Tian settled into a place in front of his mother. Though only twelve years old, he already came up to her shoulder.

"There you are, we were getting worried!" Mother said, ruffling his hair. She laughed softly when Tian tried to push her hand away and flatten his hair again. "Are the girls where they need to be?"

Tian nodded and started to answer, when his aunt said, "Jiang, what's this? Why do you have your sister's costume?"

Jiang shrugged. "I have Xing's too - they didn't want to wear them."

"What?" Aunt Yafang took the costumes from Jiang and looked them over. She frowned at the stain on the front of one of them. "Is this Jiao-tu's, or Xing's?"

"Xiao-tu's, no doubt," Uncle Hong chuckled. Yafang looked at the boys, who both shrugged as if this was the first they'd heard of any ruined costume. She pursed her lips in annoyance. Mother leaned over to look at the stain; Grandmother joined in, and the three women began discussing how best to wash it out. Tian watched them with vague interest. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught another flash of orange and took an involuntary step back.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder and squeezed gently; he started in surprise.

"Something bothering you, son?" Tian looked up into his father's open, smiling face.

"No," he lied, his face heating. "I just wish it would hurry up and start. I'm hungry." He couldn't tell if Father believed him or not, but he was too embarrassed to admit to what had happened at the ice cream stand. Grandfather was regarding him with that calm, impenetrable gaze that he was so good at; but he didn't say anything, just puffed away thoughtfully on his pipe.

Fortunately, the sound of tinny, recorded piano music started up and Tian was saved from answering any more questions by the beginning of the performances.

Xing and Jiao-tu's class was the first in the program. Tian watched as a dozen red-and-gold-clad girls - two of them in white only - shuffled daintily across the stage and fanned out to strike identical poses, wrists, elbows, and knees angled just so. Father had his camera, an expensive one with three different lenses that he kept on a shelf in the closet that the children weren't allowed to touch - though he'd let Tian do some practice shots during the drumming. He started snapping photos as soon as the girls were set in their beginning formation.

Tian realized that he shouldn't have been worried that Miss Fa would keep Xing and Jiao-tu from dancing. All Xing had to do was turn up her big blue eyes in a pleading, puppy-dog look; add in a slightly quivering lip, and even the coldest of hearts would melt. She didn't consciously try to manipulate people - she just let her natural emotion show, and no one could resist. Miss Fa had never stood a chance.

Even if she had been dressed the same as the others, though, all eyes would have been drawn straight to Xing. Xing loved to dance, loved it more than anything else, and it showed in the serene expression on her face. She moved with the other girls from precise pose to precise pose, but with a natural grace and flow of movement that set her apart from the rest. She would be dancing with the advanced class too; Miss Fa had moved her ahead a level, but Xing continued attending the intermediate class with Jiao-tu. She said that it was because she wanted to spend more time dancing; while Tian was sure that that was true, he was also sure that the main reason Xing stayed was so that her cousin wouldn't feel abandoned.

Just like with Xing, Jiao-tu needn't have been dressed differently from the others to draw attention to herself. The routine wasn't halfway through before she had bumped into at least three other girls, nearly knocking one of them over. Tian cringed as his cousin crossed one foot behind the other during a backwards step and tripped herself, landing hard on her rear.

"If anyone asks, I don't know her," Jiang muttered under his breath. Yafang flicked his ear. "Ow!"

Jiao-tu recovered herself and trotted back to her place in the formation, her face as red as the costumes. The girls finished out their routine with a flourish of hands and graceful bows, then shuffled off the stage to rounds of applause. Xing stayed to prepare for the next dance; it was a very dejected Jiao-tu that joined the rest of the family in the audience.

"You were lovely up there, _Xiao_-tu," Yafang told her with a warm smile; but the girl just burst into tears.

"I fell," she sobbed, rubbing her eyes angrily.

Yafang wrapped her arms around her daughter while Hong rubbed her back.

"Maybe you did fall, but you got right back up again - that's more important," he assured Jiao-tu, who just mumbled something incoherent into her mother's stomach.

Yafang pushed Jiao-tu back slightly. "What was that, sweetie?"

The girl sniffed. "I said, can we go see the dragon boats now?"

"We will when Xing is finished," Grandfather told her, patting her head.

The music started up again, signaling the start of the advanced class's piece; this time instead of the flowing notes of a piano, they heard the delicate, sharp strumming of a _pipa_. Xing appeared again, now in a green tunic that Miss Fa must have been keeping for her. It was another traditional folk dance like the first, depicting a scene from the Legend of the White Snake, a favorite of Jiao-tu and Xing's. Xing was playing the part of the Green Snake, the White Snake's little sister. Even though she was the youngest of this group and not the star of the story, her sweet and joyful movements upstaged them all.

When the performance was over, Xing bounded up to her family, once again clad only in her plain white dress. "How was it?" she asked with bubbling enthusiasm. "Was it good?"

Mother kissed her cheek. "Perfect - you danced beautifully."

Xing beamed. "Everyone worked really hard! 'Tu was great too, even better than in rehearsal!" She reached over and gave her cousin a hug.

"Thanks," Jiao-tu mumbled, returning the hug half-heartedly. Then louder, she said, "_Now_ can we go see the boats?"

"Boats!" Xing clapped her hands. "Which way are they, this way?"

She started to dart off into the crowd, but Tian caught her arm. "Hold on," he said, laughing. "Grandmother wanted a family picture first, remember?"

"Right, right," Grandmother said, herding Jiao-tu and Xing along in front of her. "Let's go over here by the water."

They found a spot on the riverbank, with the rays from the lowering sun glinting off of the sluggish water. Grandmother fussed about, arranging everyone just so. She finally decided on herself and Grandfather in the center, with their children - Mother and Uncle Hong - on either side. Yafang stood next to her husband; Jiang and Jiao-tu were in front of them. Tian and Xing stood in front of Mother. Xing was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, already bored with standing still. Tian put a hand on her shoulder to stop her; she was making him dizzy.

"Make sure you smile," Jiang hissed at his sister.

"I am smiling," Jiao-tu scowled.

Father backed up to the edge of the streaming crowd and turned the big lens to focus. "Everyone smile now," he said.

But Xing bounced on her toes fretfully. "Papa, wait! You can't take the picture, you won't be in it!"

Grandmother tutted. "That's right, Xinkun - ask someone to take it for you, then come stand here next to An."

Father looked at the heavy camera in his hands; Tian was sure that he was reluctant to just hand it over to a stranger. Xing had apparently come to the same conclusion. Before Tian could catch her, she ran from her place and tugged on the shirt of a balding, overweight man who just happened to be walking by.

"Mister, Sir, will you please take our picture?"

"Xing, don't! Ah, sorry about that, sir." Father rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

But the man was caught in the spell of Xing's sweet blue gaze. He smiled down at her. "Of course, I don't mind at all."

Father showed the man how to work the camera, then led Xing back to the rest of the family. "Stay put for the picture, now," he told her as he positioned her next to Tian.

"I'll hold her," Tian assured Father, and wrapped his sister in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet. She was giggling uncontrollably when the camera shutter clicked.

~~~~o~~~~

The dragon boats had competed in the races in the morning; now that the sun was setting and the day was finally cooling off, they were rowing lazily up and down the river. They were works of art: the hulls painted with colorful scales, the prows mounted with snarling, carved dragons' heads. Crewed by expert rowing teams, with wooden oars flashing over the sides in practiced synchrony, they looked like some kind of aquatic, draconian centipedes.

"There aren't any purple ones," Jiao-tu said with a pout.

"Why would there be purple? That's a dumb color. Look, there's the green one that won the race!" Jiang pushed forward closer to the water, Xing following close behind. Jiao-tu, however, hung back.

"I thought you wanted to see the boats," Tian said, coming up to stand next to her.

She shrugged. "It's probably a good thing that they're dragons, and not rabbits. If they were rabbits, they'd sink."

"Rabbits can't swim?"

"I don't know. If they tried, I bet they'd get eaten by giant fish, just like that stupid poet guy."

It took Tian a minute to figure out what she was talking about; then he remembered the legend that had started the Dragon Boat Festival. A famous poet whose name he could never remember had supposedly drowned himself in a river. The townspeople had rushed out in dragon boats to save his body from being eaten by the fish.

But he knew that Jiao-tu wasn't really talking about the poet. Born on the cusp of the new year, her zodiac sign was a rabbit instead of the dragon it would have been if her mother had gone into labor just a day later. Tian didn't put much stock in superstitions like that, but Jiao-tu did, and she hated being a rabbit.

"Are you mad because you didn't do as well as you wanted during the dancing?" he asked her.

She scuffed a foot in the dirt. "I never do well. I'm terrible at dancing. And I'm terrible at wushu. I'm the only one who isn't good at anything."

Athletically speaking, that was true. Jiao-tu was taking wushu classes from Grandfather and Uncle, and she was even clumsier at that than at dancing.

"Well," Tian tried, "you're good at school."

"Being good at school is stupid."

"No, it's sort of the opposite of stupid."

Jiao-tu punched his arm, but there was a slight smile on her face now. "Stupid," she said.

Tian grinned at her, then fished around in his pocket. He found the bracelet that he'd bought earlier, and held it out to her. "Here, this is for you."

She took it and examined the charm curiously. "A dragon?"

"Uh huh. I got a snake one for Xing."

"Thank you," Jiao-tu said politely. "But my sign is a rabbit, remember?"

Tian snorted. "Who's being stupid now? You keep saying that you want to be a dragon - so act like a dragon. Why should it matter when you were born? Come on, let's go get good seats for the fireworks."

Jiao-tu regarded the charm thoughtfully, and allowed him to take her wrist and tow her towards the water where the others were gathered, Xing laughing and pointing at something in the distance. The distinctive scent of pipe tobacco wafted up from behind him, and he turned to see Grandfather smiling at him, eyes hidden behind crinkly wrinkles.

The older man didn't say anything, but patted Tian's shoulder approvingly. Tian felt a warm glow of pride, as they joined the rest of the family.

* * *

><p>*<em>Xiao = little<em>


	2. Tian II

…_After many days of travel through the barren deserts, the wandering Shaolin monk came upon a hidden valley nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas. The rice paddies were cracked and dry, and the stalks of maize crumbled to dust beneath the wanderer's hand. Yet there was a village within the valley, and it was full of people going about their daily lives. Strangely, each person that the wanderer saw carried a large monkey on his or her back. Although the monkeys pulled their hair, snatched the food from their hands, and acted as heavy weights that slowed and bent even the strongest young man, the people paid them no attention._

_The elder of the village greeted the monk, and invited him to his home for the evening meal. The elder apologized for the sparse offerings he laid before his guest; the summer had been particularly dry and hot that year._

"_Why don't the people summer in the heights of the hills?" the monk asked. "Surely there is more water and cooler weather for your crops to thrive above this valley."_

_The elder's face grew sad. "That was our custom in the past," he told the monk. "But every year troops of monkeys with terrible faces would raid our village and steal our food. This summer there were so many that we decided to flee and settle here, where there are no monkeys."_

"_No monkeys? There is monkey here for every man, woman, and child. There is a monkey on your own back even now - how is it that you do not see this?"_

_But these words only confused the elder. "The monkeys do not travel this far down from the hills; if there are monkeys here, it is because we brought them. And why would we do that?"_

_Nothing would persuade the elder, or anyone else in the village, that they had not left their problems behind after all. They would not face what they had fled, and so could not see it, even when it clung to their backs and held them down. The monk spent the night at his kind host's home, and left the village of the hidden valley in the morning._

* * *

><p>Tian had finished his third helping of steamed buns before Xing was even done with her first.<p>

"Slow down or you'll choke," Mother chided him. She had her hospital scrubs on, but hadn't yet had a chance to put up her hair and do her makeup. She usually finished getting ready for work while Tian and Xing ate. Father always had to leave before it was light, to catch the bus to the outskirts of the city where the university was. "What's the rush? You have plenty of time to get to school."

"I want to go practice first," he said. "Xing, are you ready? You can eat that while we walk."

Mother raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say no. Tian and Jiang often practiced extra before school when there was a big competition coming up; even though the festival tournament was over, it wasn't strange for him to want to go to the wushu school early. Xing was used to it too; yawning widely, she got up from the table and picked up her school bag. She was wearing her snake charm bracelet still, having refused to take it off last night.

Tian grabbed his own bag as well as the last bun from the plate and headed to the door, Xing trailing behind. "Bye!" he shouted without looking back.

"Xing, ask Jiao-tu to help you with your grammar homework while you wait for your brother!" Mother called after them.

"I will! Bye Mama!"

Grandfather's wushu school was only four blocks from the Lis' apartment building, though the neighborhood was much older than theirs. There were mostly courtyard houses here; the uneven street was bordered by long block walls, broken up by tall wooden gates or round arches. It was through an ivy-covered arch that Tian and Xing turned, entering a wide rectangular space with a towering elm in one corner.

Uncle Hong was leading an advanced class in the center of the courtyard through a series of high kick repetitions. A cloud of dust stirred up by the movements of the teenage boys and girls hovered just above the ground and the shouted "Ha!" following each kick bounced off the stone walls. Uncle saw the children enter and gave them a cheery wave before returning his attention to his students.

A narrow covered walkway that lined the walls led Tian and Xing around the class and to the buildings ringing the courtyard. The main house, which was directly across from the arch, was where the family lived. It was a large house; in addition to the living space, there were four bedrooms - one for Grandmother and Grandfather, one for Aunt and Uncle, and one each for Jiang and Jiao-tu. Aunt always said that it was a good thing that her children didn't have to share a room, or they would have murdered each other years ago. A kitchen that had been converted into modern style with full plumbing and electricity was just off the main house.

To the left of the arch was a smaller building, currently used as storage - a delightful maze of dusty old furniture, boxes, cobwebs, and once, a very frightened bat. Uncle had intended to kill the bat, but Xing had been so horrified at the thought that he and Father had ended up spending most of an afternoon chasing it around the place with brooms until it found its way out, much to Tian and Jiang's amusement (Jiao-tu had locked herself in her parents' bedroom and refused to come out until after her father assured her that the bat was gone). The rooms needed updating - there wasn't even a bathroom. Grandmother kept saying that she wanted to renovate it so that the Li family could move in; but as much fun as it would be to live with everyone else, Tian was secretly glad that they didn't. He liked having his parents all to himself. Well, he shared them with Xing; but she didn't count.

"I'm going to go find 'Tu!" Xing said, skipping ahead of him. He watched her disappear into the main house, then turned right into the third building of the complex, leaving his shoes just outside the open door.

This was the indoor wushu studio. With the class practicing outside, the simple white room was empty of people this morning. Quiet and waiting. Blue tumbling mats were stacked up against one wall, ready to be rolled out at a moment's notice. One corner contained a plain wooden table with a single chair. Around the perimeter were all kinds of training equipment: two wooden practice dummies, punching bags for Western-style boxing, and an assortment of staves and practice swords. Tian and Jiang's class was going to start learning the swords soon; he wasn't looking forward to it. They looked intimidating, even though the edges were blunted.

Grandfather had started the school over forty years ago: a faded banner on the far wall boasted "Xu Man's School" in hand-painted calligraphy. Below the banner, the wall was covered in photos of himself and his students, current and former, at various events and competitions. There was a younger Uncle posing next to a National Champion trophy, and one of Mother when she just a teenager, having medaled at a province-wide _taolu_ competition for girls. Mother had always wanted to dance rather than fight, which was why she'd enrolled Xing in dance classes instead. Grandfather had forgiven her for that only because Xing loved it so much.

The medals and trophies themselves were kept in the office in the back, out of the way of errant tumbling and off-target kicks. Jiang had his own shelf, while Tian's awards shared space with the other students'. Tian was proud of his cousin's accomplishments, though he was a little jealous. His own routines always went perfectly during practice; but somehow, when he was up on stage in front of all those eyes, watching him and judging him, he would lose focus and make a mistake. Not a big mistake, but enough that another competitor would be awarded higher points. Like at the festival yesterday.

He made his way over to the wooden dummies, bare feet padding silently on the polished wood floor. Aside from the tumbling, it was his favorite part of training. Not many schools in Xi'an had one; Grandfather claimed that a famous Wing Chun master in the south had given the solid dummy to him after he'd shown such mastery of it. Tian preferred the spinning one; he liked the way the bars responded to his every move, with just enough resistance to make it challenging, and the fast pace and even faster reactions that were required to keep it moving. He was the best at it in his class, even better than Jiang. The dummy was scaled for an adult, but Tian was tall enough that it wasn't much of a problem.

Dropping his school bag against the wall, Tian stretched his arms above him, in front of him, behind him. Then he rolled his shoulders a couple of times to loosen up. Straightening his back, he reached out and tapped one of the upper bars lightly with the outside of his forearm. The top portion of the dummy rotated in response to the tap, bringing the other bar around. Tian fended it off with his other arm, hitting a little harder. He quickly settled into a familiar routine, adding in the middle bar. This one was just the right height for him; the other bars were a bit high, but he just pretended that he was fighting off a larger opponent. Like Honglian.

Gradually he picked up speed, striking the bars each time they came within range and throwing the occasional body strike onto the padded central trunk. This was what he loved about the dummy - he didn't have to think, just react. Once he had a good rhythm going, he started the single, curved lower bar with a kick and fended it off with his leg. Each strike made a dull _thock_ sound.

He could have won that medal on Sunday. _Thock._ It was just that right before his turn had come, he'd heard Shi whispering to Zhenyu about "that blue-eyed freak". He was sure that Shi had said it loud enough for him to hear on purpose, and he'd tried to ignore it. _Thock thock_. But when he got out on stage, all he could think of was that everyone in the audience could see his unusually-colored eyes - even though that was stupid.

Tian hit the bars harder, spinning them back and forth even faster. It was alright for Xing to have blue eyes, she was a girl and everyone thought that it made her look cuter. Last year when they'd learned about hereditary traits in science class, Jiang had tried to convince Tian that he and Xing must be adopted, since both their mother's and father's eyes were brown. _Thock, thock. _But Mother had explained to him that Father's family was from a region in the north where blue eyes were more common than in the rest of China, and her family was said to have some northern ancestry as well. So it was possible, however unlikely, that both Tian and Xing had inherited blue eyes. She promised that they weren't adopted.

Still, that didn't stop the teasing.

Honglian had started it. _Thock-thock thock_. He'd started it after Tian had gotten a higher score than him in a regional competition a few months ago. And lately, the whispers were starting to be heard even in Grandfather's school - though outside of Grandfather's hearing, of course. Jiang never had to put up with teasing, even though he was better than Honglian too.

_Thwack!_ The leg bar slammed into his shin; thrown off balance, he missed the upper bar that came spinning around at head level. _Thwack!_ It knocked Tian over backwards; he landed with a pained "_Oof!_" on the hard floor.

When the stars stopped exploding in his brain, he opened his eyes. A lined face with crinkly eyes and a shaved head was staring at him upside-down. No, it was Tian that was upside-down. He pushed himself up into a sitting position with a groan.

"You lost your focus," Grandfather said impassively. He took a sip from a steaming mug. Even though Uncle was teaching the morning classes, Grandfather was dressed in his usual long-waisted wushu shirt and loose pants, the color of earth. Tian had rarely seen him in any other clothes. Sometimes he thought that Grandfather must have been born that way - bald, liver-spotted, and drab brown. His students referred to him affectionately as _Shifu Tortoise_. Just not in his presence.

"Yes," Tian sighed. "Sorry, _Shifu-_Grandfather." He stood up and shook out his arms, preparing to try again.

But Grandfather shook his head. "You need to clear your head first."

His shoulders sagged a little. "…for how long?"

Grandfather tapped a finger between his shoulder blades and Tian straightened again. "Until your head is clear."

That was always the answer; Tian didn't know why he always asked, except that maybe it was comforting to hear the familiar response. Grandfather sat down at the little table in the corner. He crossed an ankle over the opposite knee and continued sipping his tea. Tian positioned himself in front of the wall near the table; bracing his forearms and head on the floor, he swung his legs up into a headstand.

This was Grandfather's idea of "clearing the head." It took a lot of concentration to keep the body straight and strong. Tian hated it.

He tried to focus on his breathing. A calm, even breath moving in and out of his lungs, filling every muscle and every cell with energy. Every time a thought of the tournament or Honglian entered his mind, Tian brushed it aside and concentrated on his breath again. He squeezed his eyes shut against the throbbing in the side of his head where the bar had hit him. His arms were starting to get a little tired. In and out…in and out…ten minutes must have passed already.

He heard Grandfather get up from the chair and walk over to his position with almost silent steps.

"Good. One minute. That's almost a record for you."

"What?" Only one minute? Tian's legs swayed dangerously, but he rallied and steadied himself once more.

"Focus on the present," Grandfather intoned. "Whatever it is that is bothering you, fogging up your mind, let it go. Forget the past. The future is meaningless. Emotions are nothing but unnecessary distractions. Breathe. In, and out."

Eventually, despite the blood pooling in his brain, Tian felt his mind start to relax. Time stretched and bent, losing all meaning. There was only the present; his breathing and the centering of his core. _Focus on the present…emotions are unnecessary distractions_. The words drifted through his brain, expanding and filling his consciousness.

"Jiang told me what happened yesterday."

Tian's bubble of concentration burst and he toppled over with a thud. He tried to sit up, but the blood drained from his head in a cold rush and left him feeling dizzy. He leaned forward over his legs instead, rubbing them to try and prevent the inevitable stabbing pins and needles of pain.

Grandfather sat down cross-legged next to him. The scent of jasmine tea mingled with pipe tobacco filled the air. "We've discussed this before. There's no shame in not wanting to fight. It takes a strong man to turn away and follow the path of nonviolence. Those who would prey on the weak betray their own weakness."

"I know," Tian said, folding himself completely over and crossing his arms on his knees to rest his forehead and hide his reddening face. He didn't deserve to have Grandfather call him a strong man.

"But you still feel like you did wrong?"

"I guess," he said into his knees.

"Why is that?"

Tian exhaled in frustration, then sat up to lean against the wall. He didn't meet Grandfather's eyes. "I don't really care when they pick on me. Okay, I care a little bit," he added, knowing that the old man would see through the lie. "But…what if it's not me they're picking on next? What if it's Xing, or Jiao-tu?"

Grandfather sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Was Xing there with you?"

"Uh huh."

"What did she do?"

Tian felt his face flush at the memory. "She shouted at them to leave me alone."

Grandfather chuckled. "So, what makes you think that she needs your protection?"

"But, they're bigger than her! And she's not a fighter, she -"

The old wushu master placed a hand on his pupil's knee, and Tian closed his mouth to listen. "There may be times when your sister needs your help, yes. But if she can handle it on her own, then you need to let her. And you need to let other people help you - those boys are frightened of your cousin; you know that they won't hurt you or the girls."

"It's not right," Tian muttered. "If I wasn't such a coward, I wouldn't need to depend on Jiang."

"You are one of the most talented students I've ever had, but violence is not in you, son, and that's nothing to be ashamed about. Now, why do these boys target you so often?"

Tian shrugged. "Jiang thinks it's just because I don't fight back." He hadn't ever fought back, not even during sparring practice - not since he'd accidentally hit an opponent's face during a competition two years ago. The other boy's nose had been broken; Tian would never forget all the blood, and the boy's horrified tears of pain. He never wanted to hurt anyone like that again.

"What do _you_ think?"

"Well…" Tian hesitated. "Honglian pushes me around because he knows he can; but I think he's just embarrassed that I scored higher than him at New Year's, even though I'm two years younger. He doesn't want his friends thinking that he's weak."

Grandfather looked thoughtful. "You do have a talent for seeing through to the truth about people. That sounds plausible. The question now, is how do you keep him from preying on you in the future, without making him look weak? I fear that even if you did fight back - which I don't think you should - things would only get ugly."

"I don't know. I don't mind it, really, as long as they don't try to hurt Xing or 'Tu."

This response received a raised eyebrow, and Tian looked away guiltily.

"Have I ever told you the story of my visit to the village in the hidden valley, in the foothills of the Himalayas?"

"Yes." _Only about a hundred times_.

It wasn't one of Tian's favorites; mostly because Grandfather seemed to reserve it especially for him. He looked to be about to start telling it again, when they heard Jiang's voice outside shouting, "Tu! Get Tian and come on!"

There was a scuffling sound from right outside the doorway, then Jiao-tu poked her head inside. "Time for school," she said meekly, studying her toes the way she always did when she was caught doing something wrong; Tian wondered how long she'd been out there listening in.

Grandfather patted his knee, then stood with an ease surprising in such an old man. "Well, you need to be off. Think on my question, and we'll talk again later. And don't be upset with your cousin for telling me," he added softly.

"I'm not," Tian said truthfully. Nothing escaped the old man's watchful eye, and when he wanted to know something, all he had to do was regard his students with silent scrutiny until they broke beneath his impenetrable gaze. Jiao-tu was convinced that he could actually read minds.

Tian collected his school bag and met Jiao-tu outside, where he slipped his shoes back on. He noticed that she was wearing the charm bracelet still, just like Xing. His sister and Jiang were waiting by the front archway.

"Here, Mom saved these for you," Jiang said, holding out a napkin-wrapped packet. "I ate the other ten," he added proudly.

Tian took the packet and opened it to find two soy sauce boiled eggs. He popped one into his mouth; Aunt Yafang always added chilies and garlic, something that he'd never been able to convince his own mother to do.

"Thanks," he said around a mouthful of egg. "I was still hungry; I only had nine buns this morning." They had been big buns too, bigger than Aunt ever made.

Jiang snorted. "Nine? I had - "

"_Ugh,_" Jiao-tu interrupted with a roll of her eyes, "you two are so dumb - no one cares how much food you can stuff into your fat mouths! Come on, we're going to be late for school!"

Xing just giggled.

* * *

><p><em>*Shifu = masterteacher_


	3. Brigid I

_/News/World/Politics/14.06.98: London, England. Unionists and nationalists, loyalists and republicans, Protestants and Catholics came together on Good Friday two months ago in a historic effort to overcome the violence and mistrust of the past, and to forge a new future for the people of Ireland. After three decades of conflict, the deaths of over 3000 people, and the serious wounding of tens of thousands, peace between England and Northern Ireland has finally been achieved with the signing of the Belfast Agreement. _

_The Democratic Unionist Party remains opposed to the Agreement; however, the majority of paramilitary groups have honored the calls to ceasefire and decommissioned their weapons, while army troops have withdrawn from sensitive border areas. This end to the Troubles has come at high cost, and while the ink is yet fresh on the page, the scale of this achievement cannot be ignored. At last, Northern Ireland's people can glimpse peace./_

* * *

><p><em>Memo_

_Protective Marking: Secret. _

_Clearance: Security Check_

_To: Republicanism Task Force_

_From: Decade. Chief of London operations, Secret Intelligence Service, Counter-terrorism Section. _

_Date: May 1, 1998_

_Subject: New intelligence_

_The home office is receiving intelligence concerning DUP-backed protests of the Belfast Agreement in London. Date of protests still unknown, though likely to be in the next few months. Leader on the ground is rumored to be D. Fitzgerald, former leader of The Cause and wanted in connection with the 1986 bus depot bombing, among others. Location of Fitzgerald is unknown, though he is suspected to be based in South London. Keep eyes on known associates. If Fitzgerald is sighted, report immediately. Do not engage./_

* * *

><p>There was a man watching her.<p>

True, a lot of men were casting their eyes on her - this was a pub, they were all drinking, and Brigid knew how to earn herself good tips. This man, though, hadn't ordered a single thing from the bar. And every time she caught a glimpse of him through the press of people, his face was turned directly towards hers.

Her hand drifted towards the cigarette pack that she had stashed just under the counter, but she stopped herself. She wasn't going to let some idiot who wore sunglasses indoors make her nervous. Instead, she grabbed a handful of glasses from the shelf and began filling pints from the tap. The glasses never quite seemed to lose their sticky beer-coat, no matter how many times she washed them. She wondered if the beer just condensed out of the air, like dew. Her grandmother had once told her that dew was laid out by faeries every morning; maybe there were beer faeries as well.

The loud clunk of bottles on the bar made her look up.

"God, my feet are killing me!" Abigail moaned. She was standing at an awkward angle on the other side of the counter, presumably trying to massage one of her aching feet. The mass of dark curly hair pulled high on her head threatened to whip a customer across the face whenever she turned.

Brigid laughed and picked up the tray loaded with empty beer bottles. She dumped the bottles into the bin with a crash of glass. "I told you not to wear those shoes to work." They didn't have any kind of dress code, but Abigail did tend to dress as if she was at some flash club instead of a neighborhood pub. Brigid herself was in her usual work uniform of low-cut black top, dark denim jeans, and black flats. She liked the way the dark colors contrasted with her pale skin and light blond hair. The only adornment that she ever wore was an old wooden-beaded rosary, wrapped thrice around her wrist. Two black and white feathers were tied alongside the cross; they tickled her skin whenever they brushed against it, but she was so used to the feeling that she hardly noticed anymore.

Abigail made a face. "I had to wear them - I'm going straight to George's when the match is over, and he likes the way they make my arse look."

A collective cheer interrupted the two women's conversation. Brigid glanced up at the television screen at the end of the bar. Normally she would have been just as focused on the match as the pub's patrons, but her mind was on other things tonight.

"Hey Abs - you seen that man in here before? The one by himself in the corner?"

Abigail stood on her tiptoes and peered into the crowd; Brigid wished that she wouldn't make it so obvious that she was looking. "The nutter with the sunglasses on?"

Brigid nodded, brushing her long hair back over her shoulder.

"No, I don't think so. What kind of idiot wears sunglasses indoors?"

"No idea," Brigid said. "Just some nutter, probably."

"Oi, Barkeep!" The shout pierced the general hubbub of the room. "Where're those lagers?"

"They're coming, aren't they!" Abigail shouted back.

Brigid loaded the pints that she'd just poured onto a tray; she was about to pass the tray off to Abigail when an impulse struck her. "Why don't we swap," she told her friend. "You can kick off your shoes back here for a while, and I'll do the running out."

The relief was visible on Abigail's face. "Bridge, you're a life saver!" She practically dashed behind the counter. "Watch out for the one in blue, he's handsy."

Brigid took the tray of lagers and made her way deftly through the jostling crowd, dodging the occasional "accidental" hand-to-rear brush with a coy smile and, where she didn't think it would do any harm, a wink. She passed a woman who had just lit a cigarette; Brigid plucked it from her hand and dropped it into the woman's glass.

"Smoking is outside only, house rules."

"Since when?" the woman protested.

"Since two months ago."

The woman cursed her. Brigid knew how she felt.

Her arrival at the group standing directly beneath the television was greeted with a cheer. Half a dozen hands - some more coordinated than others - grabbed at the glasses.

"Here's my oracle!" one of the pub's regulars, Paul, said. He threw an arm around Brigid's shoulders, staggering a little as he did so. "I've got twenty quid on Manchester, they're down by one, and Dougie has offered me double or nothing. Shall I take it?"

"Take it," Brigid said with full confidence. She tucked the now empty tray under her arm, and used the motion to dislodge Paul's arm. "Barclay always gets his mojo back before the end."

"Come on now, that's cheating!" Dougie interjected. "She's always right, you can't ask her!"

They'd had too much to drink already, Brigid could tell. She didn't want an argument to start. "I'm not always right, you know that, Dougie. Anyway, you could make the same guess too, if you only paid attention. People will tell you anything if you watch them long enough." This brought her mind uncomfortably back to the man who was still watching her from the corner. "Then you wouldn't be about to lose forty quid. Barclay's been using this lame duck strategy off and on all season."

"I'd like to watch you for a while," Paul said, grinning stupidly.

Brigid smiled back at him. "James might have a problem with that."

"Where is that git, anyway?" one of Paul's friends asked. "Haven't seen him all night."

"Business meeting," Brigid said vaguely.

"In the middle of a match? Mental."

A mix of cheers and groans brought the group's attention back to the match, and Brigid used the opportunity to slip back into the crowd. She made her way around the room slowly, taking drink orders and scooping up empty glasses and bottles. Every now and then she stopped to chat for a minute with some regulars.

At last, her tray full again, she stopped at the stranger's corner. A small group of friends was sharing one side of his table, but he was making no effort to interact with them, or even to make it appear that he was part of their group. Either he wanted her to notice him watching her, or he was too inept to realize his mistakes.

Or he was just a nutter. You never could be sure in Chiswick.

He was still wearing his sunglasses; the cheery lights of the pub were mirrored back to her beneath a rakish mop of blond hair, keeping her from reading his expression. It was a cheap trick, one that government men favored. But now that she was right in front of him, she could see that his white linen suit was of good quality, and he wore it as if he'd been born wearing a suit. More likely a businessman down from the city, then.

Brigid balanced her tray carefully and stood in front of him with one hand on her hip. "Something you'd like?" she asked with a sweet, ever-so-slightly suggestive smile. The man's expression didn't change from the cocky half-smile that he'd been wearing all evening, and his eyes - or sunglasses, anyway - never left her face.

"A cranberry juice, if you'd be so kind," he said in a pleasant voice.

Brigid raised an eyebrow. "That it?"

"For now." Was there a suggestion in his tone? She couldn't tell. In any case, he didn't appear to be rising to her bait at all.

"Be right out," she said. As soon as her back was to him, her smile turned into a scowl. _Smarmy git. Who wears a white suit to a pub, and doesn't drink? _And she still didn't have any better idea as to who he was or what he wanted.

She deposited her tray on the bar counter and pulled a cigarette from her hidden pack. She could run out the back, take a couple of puffs, and be back before anyone noticed. "Abs, I need four pints of beer, a stout, and a cran." She flicked on her lighter as she turned to go, but before she could so much as inhale, the cigarette was snatched from her lips.

"What's wrong, love? Someone bothering you?" James asked; she hadn't noticed him emerge from the back room.

"Nothing I can't handle on my own," she said, a little defensively. She wouldn't mention the stranger; no sense in getting him worked up over nothing.

James tossed the cigarette into the bin, then wrapped his arms around her, easing her irritation a little. She loved that she could look directly into his eyes without having to stand on her toes. Even if it meant that he didn't like her wearing high heels; but they hurt her feet anyway.

"Have you had your apple yet today?" he asked, again.

She suppressed a fresh surge of irritation. She was so sick of bloody apples; but she shouldn't complain. Before James, it had been a long time since anyone had cared so much about her well-being. "I had one at lunch, remember?" Brigid ran her fingers through his thick, curly brown hair, then lowered her voice. "There's no need to be so nervous."

"I'm not nervous," he said in that brisk way he had when he was lying. "Are you sure they'll be here? It's getting late."

Brigid kissed him quickly on the lips, then broke away from his embrace to help Abigail fill the drink orders. James followed her behind the bar, distractedly returning greetings from the people who noticed him.

"They'll be here," Brigid said quietly. "Dillon always keeps his word." She grabbed a small glass and went to fill it with cranberry juice; but when she squeezed the nozzle, nothing happened. "Oi, Abs! When was the last time you filled the juice?"

Abigail was down the other end of the bar, passing out bottles of ale. "Dunno," she called back without looking at Brigid. Brigid sighed, and crouched down under the counter in search of a new bottle. She had to move a pair of sparkly silver, four-inch heels out of the way. James leaned down over her.

"How long has it been since you've seen him last?" he said in a tense voice. "Maybe he doesn't always keep his word these days. And anyway, you never talked to him, only his cousin."

Brigid pulled out the new bottle of cranberry juice and stood. James was hovering so close that she barely avoided cracking her head on his jaw. "They'll be here," she said as soothingly as she could, looking longingly at her cigarettes. "Now get back to the office with Dennis before someone drags you out for a chat or a pint."

James bristled a little at being told what to do, but he left. Brigid glanced over at the table in the corner, curious to see what the stranger's reaction would be to seeing her with James; but he was still just watching her with that infuriating non-expression.

"Abs," she called to her friend, "do me a favor and run this juice out to the idiot in the sunglasses."

Abigail's face paled a little, and at first Brigid thought that she was afraid of the man for some reason. But then she asked, "Can I go barefoot?"

Brigid smiled. "No. Put on your shoes."

Brigid surreptitiously watched her friend weave through the crowd on her spiked silver heels, the cranberry juice sloshing dangerously in its glass. Abigail reached the stranger's table without incident - but just as she was leaning forward to hand over the drink, a woman in the crowd bumped up against her. Abigail had been waitressing for half her life, and Brigid had seen her save entire trays full of glasses from just such a threat without ever missing a step.

This time, however, Abigail let one of her heels fold underneath her ankle, and she pitched forward onto the table. The glassful of juice arched through the air and landed with a splash onto the man's fine white jacket. He pushed his chair back with a startled cry, then looked back up at Brigid, his suit dripping.

Brigid pretended not to have seen, and set about clearing empty bottles off the bar. She was hard-pressed to keep a smug smile from her face. So, he was human after all.

Apart from his initial surprise, the stranger responded with good grace, allowing Abigail to help mop up the excess juice from his jacket. Then he resumed his seat at the table, and resumed watching Brigid. Brigid clenched her jaw a little in frustration. Just what the hell did he want here?

"He said don't bother bringing another," Abigail said as she returned to the bar with the empty glass and a handful of napkins dripping red juice. "You know, for a nutter, he's not hard on the eyes. And that's a nice suit - think he's well off?"

Brigid raised an eyebrow. "Going to throw George over for a nutter in a fancy suit?" She didn't wait for an answer, and pushed a fresh tray of drinks over. "Here, for Paul and the gang." The match was in its final seconds, and Manchester had pulled ahead.

Abigail started to protest the errand, but at Brigid's look she closed her mouth and took the tray. It was the woman's own bloody fault for wearing those stupid shoes. She was off shortly anyway, while Brigid looked to be stuck here with the stranger all night. He hadn't even gone to the washroom to clean up.

As the match wound to a close, the current of the pub began to change. Many left, taking celebrations or commiserations out into the street, while others - regulars, mostly - settled into tables for quieter conversations. Brigid payed little attention to the opening and closing of the door, and so it was with a jolt of surprise that she turned from wiping down the back counter to see a pair of familiar green eyes looking back at her from across the room.

He looked the same as he always had. Tall; deep brown hair tinged with red. The laugh lines around his eyes were new, but then he was always laughing, Dillon was. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth even now.

She used to imagine what she might say if she bumped into him out of the blue again, after so long. How long had it been? She'd tried to count the years a few times since running into Eddie last month, but most of those days had passed in a blur of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper whiskey. Not that her time with Dillon had been any different.

She'd tried to decide what she _would_ say, _knowing_ that she was going to see him again tonight - but she hadn't been able to think of a single thing.

But it didn't matter, because she couldn't risk speaking to him with that stranger watching. She didn't trust men in suits on principle.

Instead, she threw Dillon a quick hand signal, one that they'd used in the old days. _Left door_, it meant. Dillon winked back, and with a nod at the two men who were with him, led the way into the hallway behind the bar, where the washrooms and the back office were located. It was an effort, but Brigid managed to prevent herself from watching them go; her heart was pounding in a way that it hadn't done in a long time. She didn't know if it was from seeing him again, or if it was the thought of getting back into the game after so long. She'd loved the game, almost as much as she'd loved Dillon.

"I'm off then," Abigail said, bringing Brigid back to the present. She limped behind the bar and collected her purse.

"Cheers," Brigid answered with false emotion. She risked a quick glance at the stranger; he didn't appear to have taken any special notice of Dillon or his friends.

Abigail lowered her voice to a whisper. "Are you going to be alright with that man still here? I don't think he knows that you told me to spill the cran on him, but still…"

Brigid laughed, a little genuine mirth creeping back into her voice. "James is in the back" - she'd almost said _Dillon_ - "and the place is hardly empty. And anyway, I can take care of myself." She tapped her foot against the baseball bat that she kept on the floor behind the bar.

Abigail grinned. "Right. Ciao ciao!" They traded air kisses, then Abigail headed out the door.

~~~~o~~~~

Over the next hour, the pub slowly cleared out. Brigid sat and chatted with Paul and his friends for a time. After they'd gone, she busied herself tidying up the pub. It took longer than usual; James usually helped her, but he was still closeted in the back with Dillon and the others. She wished that she was back there too. She couldn't keep the worry from her mind.

However, she couldn't leave the bar yet. There was a couple in one corner, snogging quietly - she was going to have to toss them out soon - and in the other corner, the man in the white suit was still watching her.

She finished drying the last of the glasses and put it away with a loud clink. The kissing couple looked up at last, and made a giggling exit. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, the man in the white suit stood. There was a lurid red stain across his left breast and lapel.

Brigid leaned on the counter, with one foot resting on her baseball bat. The crucifix dangling from her rosary scraped against the wooden counter top with a familiar, reassuring sound, the feathers brushing lightly against her wrist. She ignored the man as he took a seat at the bar, and instead focused on lighting a cigarette. She took one long, glorious drag, and exhaled a stream of smoke. The nicotine hit her bloodstream, and she felt her nerves begin to relax at last. She'd make sure to put it out before James came back.

A polite cough drew her attention to the stranger, who was leaning back in one of the tall bar chairs, as relaxed as he had been all evening.

"You've got red on you," she told him helpfully, and smiled at the flash of irritation that crossed his face.

The man took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket, revealing a pair of light blue eyes. He was young - younger than she was, probably. "It's going to be illegal to smoke in bars soon," he said.

Brigid took another puff. "Then I'd better enjoy it while I can."

"You can make the choice to poison yourself if you like, but secondhand smoke is far more deadly than what you're inhaling, you know."

She'd just about had it with this man. It wasn't generally good business to be rude to the patrons, but she had no desire for his repeat business. He hadn't even bought anything. In fact, he'd _cost_ her one glass of cranberry juice. "If you don't like it, you can leave."

The man smiled at her, a cocky, insolent sort of smile. "I'll go soon enough; but not until I've had a chance to speak with you, Miss Coleman."

Brigid took a long, deliberate drag to mask her surprise. "Then you may as well leave now. My name isn't Coleman, it's Drury."

"Ah yes - your nominal marriage to Mr. James Drury. Although, as your husband's name isn't Drury, but Rafferty, that should make you Mrs. Brigid Rafferty. If you were actually married, that is. Which you aren't."

Brigid narrowed her eyes slightly. "If we're talking about names, shouldn't you be telling me yours?"

The man's smile never wavered. "Of course, how rude of me. My name is Simon - Jack Simon."

He held out his hand, but she didn't take it. Who did he think he was, James Bond?

"Mr. Simon," she said, giving him her sweetest smile, "I'm afraid you're still mistaken. Whether I'm married to James or not is beside the point - my name is Brigid, yes, but I've never had the name Coleman." Out of his line of sight, she used her foot to tip the bat up on end and rested it against her leg and the cabinet, where she could reach it quickly. Just in case.

"No?" Simon's smile widened. "You _are_ the woman that I saw at the South Kensington Tube station a month ago, speaking with Eddie Corrigan. I know, because I followed you back here."

He'd followed her? Shit - she'd never even picked him up. She'd been out of the game for too long. And she'd known that it was a mistake to talk to Eddie; but he'd recognized her, and had been so happy to see her…and she hadn't been able to resist getting news of Dillon.

Simon continued speaking, carefully watching her face for her reactions. "Eddie Corrigan made two trips to this pub in the last month. Interesting, since I've been watching him for some time, and he'd never previously shown any interest in visiting Chiswick. So naturally, my attention turned to the person whom he was visiting - you."

Brigid didn't respond. Her cigarette had burned down to a stub already; she felt a twinge of guilt as she lit another, but ignored it. Smoking helped keep her mind sharp.

"It wasn't easy at first to discover who you are. You appeared in Chiswick four years ago, though where you came from no one has been able to tell me. You began working in this pub, and soon became the lover of the owner, Mr. James Drury, formerly Rafferty. _His_ identity has never been much of a secret; but as he was never a major player nor has any connections to anyone important, we have little interest in him. You, on the other hand…"

Brigid fiddled with her rosary absently, cigarette held loosely in her fingers. "Me?" she asked, when Simon didn't continue.

"You were a dead end, as far as Chiswick and James Rafferty were concerned. But when I returned to Corrigan, it all came together."

He was so proud of himself and his amateur detective work. The bat was pressing against her leg, and there were five strong men in the back room at this very moment, just a shout away…but she needed to know exactly what he knew first. And what he wanted.

Simon steepled his fingers, still smiling that pleased smile. "Eddie Corrigan, young cousin to the notorious Irish Nationalist Dillon Fitzgerald. We've been hearing for quite a while now that Fitzgerald was planning on coming out of retirement, but haven't been able to get our hands on anything concrete. Most of his old friends are in jail, or else scattered in the wind. Including his former lover and right-hand man - or should I say, woman - Brigid Coleman.

"_Her_ whereabouts have been a mystery for the past twelve years. Oh, there have been rumors - she's fled to America; she's hiding in Europe; she's drunk herself to death in Thailand. The only thing we do know for sure is her description: average height, light blond hair, and" he paused, his pale blue eyes meeting hers, "golden-brown eyes. Although, I'd say they're more amber than golden."

Brigid averted her eyes, and tapped her cigarette ash into an empty glass. A part of her was terrified that he'd managed to discover her identity; but all the time that he'd been speaking, she'd been watching him, and he'd told her enough for her to make a good guess as to who _he_ really was. Besides a smug English bastard.

"MI-6, is it, then?" she asked, dropping her carefully cultivated London accent for her native Irish one. "Let me guess - you're fresh out of training, bright and eager to serve Queen and country, and this is your first assignment. Babysitting the young cousin of an irrelevant, former Nationalist. But you got lucky and tracked down someone from the old organization who _used_ to be someone; you think that by bringing me in, you can show your superiors what skill and gumption you have, and get moved up the ladder quicker. Maybe to a more interesting post on a foreign station, where you can really prove yourself."

His face was clouding, and she knew that she had him pegged. "But trust me, I'm not worth that much, even if you _can_ prove who I am, which I doubt. You can arrest me, and maybe something from a dozen years ago will stick, but not for long. I'm a respectable member of society. My youthful indiscretions are behind me and anyway, Ireland and England are at peace now. No one _cares_ anymore."

She inhaled on her cigarette, and blew the stream of smoke into Simon's face. He waved it away.

"You may not care about poisoning yourself or the people around you," he said irritably, "but I would think that you'd at least have the sense not to smoke in your condition."

Brigid froze, the cigarette just touching her lips. How could he possibly know about that? She and James hadn't told anyone; she hadn't even told Abs yet.

He smiled at the look on her face. "It turns out that it's not so difficult to con a doctor into revealing a patient's private health information. And I think you're overestimating your chances with the court. Your fingerprints are in the system, from one of your 'youthful indiscretions'. Something to do with assaulting an officer with a fish?" He raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage, feeling more and more off balance with every word. "I was thirteen."

"Hm. Well, we found a match for those prints on an unfinished bomb in a raid twelve years ago - the exact same type of bomb that was linked to a number of explosions in Belfast, explosions that were credited to Fitzgerald's organization. Including the blast at the bus depot, that killed or injured nearly twenty people."

Brigid's stomach twisted at the memory of that mission. Everything had gone wrong; no one was supposed to have been hurt - and there had been Dillon, assuring her that it was alright, that those poor people had died for the good of the Cause.

_Shouldn't people be more important than a cause?_ she'd asked him.

He'd looked at her uncomprehending, and answered, _People _are_ the Cause, love._

She had never been able to believe in it as much as he had.

Simon continued on blithely, "I can arrest you, certainly. And you will be convicted, and that poor child of yours will be born in prison, and given away to some new, happy family, to grow up without ever knowing your name." He shrugged. "Or maybe Mr. Rafferty will want to keep the child; but if we arrest you, we may as well arrest him too. He won't spend near as much time in prison as you, but who will look after the child for those first few years? Neither of you has any living relatives."

Brigid rubbed her thumb along the cross dangling from her wrist; the carved figure on the surface had long ago been worn down to nothing. She glanced towards the hall. Did Simon know that Dillon was here, now?

"You don't think I'd be so stupid as to come here without telling my superiors first?" Simon said with a chuckle.

"You aren't here to arrest me," Brigid said, stabbing out her cigarette on the bar counter, "or you wouldn't be sitting here chatting. So what do you want?"

Simon abandoned his casual air for the first time and leaned forward onto the bar, his blue eyes bright. "What I want," he said, "is Dillon Fitzgerald and his entire organization. And you can give them to me."


	4. Brigid II

_/NOAA Office of Satellite Operations, internal report 1.17a.14.06.98: Goiania, Brazil. 00:01:01 local time, lost contact with satellite D1937bx approx. 62 min. Feed restored 01:02:58. Cause of glitch unknown; possibly due to interference from increased solar activity. _

_Of note: reports coming out of Goiania claim that beginning shortly after midnight, the moon appeared to "vanish" and has not been visible for the past three hours. Last confirmed visual was approx. 00:02:00; waning quarter, altitude 36 degrees at heading 97 degrees E. Observation stations at Fortaleza, Brazil and Cordoba, Argentina, report nothing unusual; all systems functional./_

* * *

><p>Brigid had just closed the last set of blinds when she heard voices in the back hallway. The group of men were exiting the office. The two who Dillon had brought, she didn't know; behind them came Dennis, a friend of James'. Bringing up the rear were James and Dillon. They were talking together, and their smiles looked amicable enough, she saw with relief.<p>

"Bridey!" Dillon turned his broad smile on her when they reached the bar. "Aren't you a sight!"

God, how she'd loved that smile. Seeing it again drove Jack Simon's visit straight out of her mind. Laughing, she threw her arms around Dillon. He lifted her off her feet, and squeezed her so tight that she thought her ribs might crack. The feel of his arms, the scent of his aftershave, flooded her with a torrent of memories of warm summer days and even warmer nights. He kissed her cheek and set her back down. His hands remained affectionately on her waist.

"Gorgeous as ever, love." Dillon reached up and fingered the material of her sleeve, and his musical, Ulster-accented voice took on a more somber tone. "Still in black, then? How many is it, now - seventeen?"

He remembered even better than she did. Her voice caught in her throat, and she nodded, aware of James' eyes on them. Brigid took a couple of steps to the side, away from Dillon's touch and closer to James.

Dillon didn't miss her meaning. "I like your boys here - but you were always a good judge of character. Why didn't you come join us? I was waiting for you," he said with a significant look that she pretended not to notice.

"Last customer just left," Brigid said. She put her hand on her hip. "You took your time getting here, Dillon Fitzgerald - are you going to just walk out the front door now, in plain sight?"

He shrugged easily. "No worries, love. Sure, and we were careful on the way down; no one saw us."

_No one needed to see you; he was already here waiting_, she wanted to tell him. Wanted to, but couldn't.

"Bridey, this is Patrick Reynolds and Brent Davis," Dillon said, gesturing to each of his friends in turn. "They used to run with Charlie's crew - you remember him, sure? He's locked up down in Dublin now, of course. Patrick's sister Gwenith married his boy, Tim. Tim's with us too, you'll see him again, when you three come down t'Southall."

Brigid smiled. One big family - it seemed nothing had changed. She nodded at Patrick and Brent. "Glad."

Brent gave her a wide grin. "We've heard a lot of you, Brigid."

_God, what's he said?_ She laughed lightly, and tucked her arm around James'. "Stay for a pint, will you?"

To her relief, Dillon shook his head. "'Nother time, Bridey. I've got business to attend first thing in the morning. We'll have time to catch up later." He gave her another look, then said, "Come on lads."

The three men took their leave with friendly nods and goodbyes to James, Dennis, and Brigid. James removed Brigid's arm from his with unexpected stiffness, and locked the door behind them.

"Damn," Dennis said, "this is the real deal, innit. I'll take that pint, Bridge, if you're still offering."

"Sure." She returned to her place behind the bar, and filled a glass for him. James followed and took a whiskey glass from the shelf. "How'd the meeting go, then?" she asked carefully.

James poured out a measure from his favorite brand of whiskey, the one that he reserved for close friends, special occasions - or when he was, as she called it, 'in a mood'. Dennis had an eye on him as well, she noticed.

"You sound Irish all of a sudden," James said, then took a drink.

She raised an eyebrow. "Well I am Irish. You know that. So're you."

"I _mean_, you _sound_ Irish."

She realized then that she'd not switched back to her London accent after speaking with Simon. It had felt so natural with Dillon that she hadn't noticed. Had she ever used her native speech with James? She must not have…she'd been using the false accent when she'd first met him; he'd been raised in South London, and there was only a trace of Irish in his voice.

Dennis jumped in then. "The meeting went well though, didn't it. Brigid, you told us you'd known Fitzgerald, but you never said how important to the organization you were!"

Brigid smiled, and went back around the counter to sit next to Dennis at the bar. She tried to ease back into a London accent without making it appear that that was what she was doing. "Did he say I was important? I wasn't, not really. I just ran interference on some missions, and helped build a bomb or two."

"Is that all?" Dennis laughed. "He told us some stories - you were in the center of it, the real center. On the streets of Belfast, fighting for freedom from the English, giving as good as you got - God I wish I'd been there!" His eyes had that fevered light that Brigid had seen so many other young men's eyes: full of glory and honor. Fantasies.

James' expression, on the other hand, was only growing darker. She thought she saw what was bothering him now. James, Dennis, and a few of their friends had been part of a small Nationalist group in London several years ago when they were students. They had done more talking and arguing than acting. When they did finally decide to act, they weren't prepared, and it went wrong. A police officer was injured; James had been positively identified as being involved, and a warrant was put out for his arrest. He hadn't been willing to go to jail for his ideals, so he'd changed his name and quietly moved to Chiswick to start over.

She'd gotten the confession out of him late one night, when they'd all had a round after closing. He and Dennis had started reminiscing about their glory days, and how much they detested the peace talks and continued English presence in their homeland - the homeland that none of them had ever seen, being of Irish-Catholic descent but born in England. Brigid then admitted to her own involvement in the Nationalist movement in Belfast, but she downplayed it to the point where her experience was no different from theirs; all she'd been looking for was a way to connect with James. They were both idealists, outlaws on the run but in no real danger. It was romantic. And safe.

He must think that she'd been looking down on him all this time, because she'd actually done what he and his friends had only daydreamed about.

"Sure he made it sound more exciting than it was," she told Dennis.

James was pouring out another measure of whiskey; he kept his eyes fixed on the glass. "Seventeen," he said.

Brigid and Dennis both looked at him blankly.

"Seventeen," James repeated, and took a swallow of the strong liquor. "He was talking about your tattoo, wasn't he. You've got sixteen now, and you're going to go get the seventeenth in a couple of weeks, even though Dr. Holmes said that you shouldn't."

Brigid's hand drifted to the neckline of her shirt, which bared the top of her breast and most of the pink-tinged jasmine blossom that was tattooed over her heart. "He said that it wasn't harmful, so long as it doesn't get infected - we've already had this discussion."

"He said not to do it! And we _have_ had this discussion, but this isn't what I'm discussing! You say you haven't seen Fitzgerald in over a decade; how does he know exactly - _exactly_ - how many of those flowers you have?"

Next to her, Dennis stepped down from the chair and quietly made his way to the door to let himself out. Brigid didn't blame him. "He took me to get the first one when I was seventeen," she said, trying and failing to keep the anger from her voice. "And I added one every year he knew me. It wasn't hard for him to guess that I keep getting them - he was counting years, is all."

James set his glass down so hard that whiskey sloshed out. "But why? Why do you get one every year - I ask, and you never tell me. You never tell me anything - what your family was like, what you were doing all those years before you showed up here, that you built _bombs_ for the Cause or were - and still are, obviously - a close, _personal_ friend of Dillon Fitzgerald!"

"Because that's all in the past!" Her voice was barely less than a shout. "None of that matters anymore!"

"It does, though, doesn't it?" As her voice rose, his dropped dangerously. "It does matter, or you wouldn't still be getting those tattoos, putting both yourself _and_ our child at risk. It does matter, or you would _talk_ to _me_, instead of running straight into _his_ arms!"

"It's been twelve years! _You_ stay apart from me for that long, and maybe I'll do the same when I see you again!" She regretted the words as soon as she'd said them. He wouldn't actually leave her, would he? She never should have stopped to talk to Eddie at the Tube station.

Brigid took a deep breath. This could be good; if James had a problem with Dillon, she wouldn't have to find a way around Simon. She continued in a more level tone, "If it bothers you that much, we'll just tell Dillon 'no'. I only thought that you and Dennis would like to join up because of all your talk, but you don't have to -"

"'Course I don't_ have_ to!" He slammed his fist down on the counter. "D'you think I'm afraid to risk myself? D'you think I want my kid growing up thinking that his father's too much a coward to fight for a future he believes in?"

Brigid snapped.

She seized the whiskey bottle from the counter and threw it as hard as she could. It sailed over James' head (he ducked; too late, if she'd been aiming for him) and hit a row of liquor bottles with an echoing crash and shattering of glass. Clear and amber liquids leaked from the shelves and dripped onto the floor with a patter like summer rain. "Damn you and your pride, James Rafferty!" she shouted.

She caught only a glimpse of his shocked face before she turned and stormed down the hall to the staircase at the back. She didn't dare look back, lest he see the tears that were forming in her eyes.

~~~~o~~~~

Above the pub was the small flat that Brigid and James shared. It had been a bachelor's pad when she'd first arrived: shabby, secondhand furniture, bare walls, ashtrays and cigarette butts everywhere. Now, she trudged in and kicked off her shoes underneath an antique hall tree that she and James had found at a flea market two years ago. In the winter, the tree was covered in hats, scarves, and overcoats. This time of year it held only Brigid's light jacket and a polka-dotted umbrella that was just big enough for them both to squeeze under.

She couldn't hear James on the stairs behind her; no doubt he was cleaning up the mess that she had made, to give them both time to cool down. They didn't fight often. James' volatile temper would lead to an angry explosion that would dissipate as quickly as it had come; it was when Brigid's usually calm composure slipped from her grasp that things would escalate.

The mirror of the hall tree had been broken during one of those fights (she couldn't remember who had thrown the glass, but it probably had been her). Brigid had replaced it with some cheery decorative paper, and in the center of the space she'd hung a framed photograph from their pretend wedding. In the photo, she and James stood with their hands clasped, wearing a borrowed dress and suit. It was the only time that Brigid had voluntarily worn something other than black in more years than she could remember.

They'd done it because the previous owner of the pub, a traditional old gentleman, had been reluctant to sell to James unless he could prove that he was stable enough to run a business on his own. She and James were the only ones who knew that the wedding was a fake. They told each other that it was only for the business. James didn't want her to feel like she was tied down, and she didn't want to make a commitment that she couldn't honor - she had been on her way to the south of Spain. For over a year, she'd been on her way to the south of Spain.

Brigid flicked on the lights and entered the living room. The dirty ashtrays were all gone, except for a decorative one that Abs had picked up for her on holiday in Greece. The sofa was still the old one that had been there when she'd moved in, but now the shabby fabric was hidden beneath a clean, pinstriped white slip cover and bright pillows. James had sanded down the worn coffee table and refinished it; resting on top of it was a glass vase that he had bought to hold the roses that she cut fresh every week. A cool breeze blew in from the wide window that looked out onto the busy street fronting the pub, framed by billowy blue curtains.

Curtains. Four years ago, she never would have imagined herself hanging curtains. Mrs. Broad, their next door neighbor, had helped her sew them.

James' guitar - his father's - was hanging on the wall next to the television. She paused to stroke the smooth, polished wood. It was the guitar that had first brought her to James.

She'd been wandering down the street in the general direction of the railway station on a crisp autumn evening four years ago. She didn't have a particular train to catch, because she didn't have a particular place to be, but railway stations were often good for finding a place to spend a night out of the wind. A small rucksack was slung over her shoulder; it was light, but she'd been carrying it for almost longer than she could remember, and she felt the weight of time with every step.

There were tell-tale signs of a pub up ahead: bright, warm light spilling out onto the street from tall windows, a small cluster of people talking and laughing near the open door. As she got closer, she heard the familiar strains of _The Wind that Shakes the Barley_, an old Irish ballad that her grandmother had loved, drifting out into the street. She hadn't planned on stopping anywhere, certainly not any place that would separate her from the paltry sum in her wallet - yet she found her feet carrying her inside, drawn by the melancholy tune.

In a chair near the door, a man with short-cropped, curly brown hair sat bent over an old acoustic guitar. He didn't seem to be aware of the small crowd around him, so intent was he on his music. A cigarette burned between his lips. There was no emotion on his face, but there was such sadness in the phrases that he drew from the instrument that Brigid stood transfixed in the doorway. The other people in the room faded from her awareness. It was just her, the music, and the memory of the scent of jasmine in the air.

The guitar player strummed the final chord, and the lingering notes seemed to bridge the space between them. He looked up; their eyes met for the briefest second, and for that second she could swear that her heart stood still. Then the others who were gathered around him clapped and called for another round of drinks. Brigid expected him to start up another song; but to her surprise the man set down his guitar, jumped behind the bar, and began filling orders.

Brigid took a seat at the counter and ordered a whiskey, neat. She didn't try to engage him in conversation; instead, she sat and watched. The way he held the bottle as he poured; the way he bantered with the regular patrons and never passed up the offer to join in a toast; the cross look that passed over his face when a customer broke a glass and the speed with which it vanished behind genuine concern for a cut finger. The shyness with which he looked away every time she caught his eye.

The pub's business quickly picked up, and before long the musical bartender was being run ragged trying to keep up with the orders. At one point, he was on the other side of the room attempting to iron out a disagreement between two groups who wanted to watch two different football matches while a cluster of thirsty patrons fretted at the bar. A woman, well on her way to being stone-cold drunk, shouted for service and started riling up the crowd. There was a look of utter frustration on the bartender's face.

On impulse, Brigid tossed her bag over the counter, then slid off her chair and walked confidently through the crowd and behind the bar. Without delay, she grabbed a clean glass, poured the ale that the woman was demanding, and served it up. Seeing someone tending bar again, the mood of the room lifted instantly.

The bartender finished up at the television and resumed his place at the counter, but there was more than enough work for them both. They quickly fell into a work flow as comfortable as if they'd been tending bar together for years - though they'd not even paused to introduce themselves. Occasionally a patron would ask the bartender who she was; he'd jerk his head and say, "New girl." When someone wanted her attention, they'd call out, "Oi! New girl!" and she'd smile and go see what they wanted.

At two a.m., the bartender escorted the last of the inebriated patrons outside, then shut the door and hung up the "closed" sign with a tired sigh. Brigid leaned on the counter and helped herself to one of the cigarettes in the pack that she'd found resting on a lower shelf.

The bartender joined her behind the bar, and reached up to the top shelf. Pulling down a bottle of expensive whiskey, he grabbed two glasses with his other hand and poured out a measure in each, then handed one to her. She took it with a smile, the wooden cross on her wrist clinking against the glass.

He raised his glass to her. "Give you joy," he said. "You really saved my life. Our waitress quit two nights ago, just in time for the weekend."

Brigid returned the salute, and they both drank. "Been a long time since I had a whiskey this good," she said. They said nothing else for several more minutes. Brigid passed him the cigarette; he took a couple of puffs and passed it back. Finally, he finished his drink and went to the register.

Brigid rested her chin in her hand, and watched him count out some bills.

"Well earned," he said, handing her the cash.

She pocketed the money, downed the last of her glass, and stooped for her rucksack. "Thanks for the drink."

He eyed her bag and threadbare sweater. "Are you new in the neighborhood?"

"Just passing through - on my way to the south of Spain. I'd thought to see an old friend, but turns out she's moved."

"If you want to stick around a few days," he said hesitantly, "I could use some help here. Until my boss sees his way to hiring another waitress, that is."

Brigid had been hoping for such an invitation; she needed funds to make her way south, where she wanted to spend the winter. London had been an accidental detour. "Sure," she said, "I could stay a few."

A look of pleased relief crossed his face.

She slung her bag over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow then?"

He nodded. "'Round noon's about time I start getting things set up."

"Noon, then." She was halfway to the door when he spoke again.

"I'm James, by the way."

She looked back, and brushed her long hair out of her face. "Brigid."

"D'you have a place to stay tonight, Brigid?" There was a sweet touch of shyness in his voice.

"I'll find a place; I always do."

He rested his hands in his pockets, and addressed his next words to the space just over her shoulder. "I have a sofa. Upstairs. I live upstairs." He gestured vaguely at the ceiling, then continued on hurriedly. "I don't mean - I'm not trying to -"

"That would be fine," Brigid interrupted with a smile. "A sofa is better than anything I'd expected to find tonight." She met his warm brown eyes with her own amber-colored ones. "But if you did mean….that would be fine too."

He smiled back at her. He had such a sweet smile.

She'd followed him upstairs; and four years later, she was still there.

Brigid lifted an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter as she passed; she could kill for a cigarette, but her only pack was downstairs, and James had surely found it and tossed it in the bin by now. She didn't bother turning on the lights in the bedroom, but with the ease of long practice navigated around the lumpy yet somehow comfortable bed and out the back door onto the narrow balcony.

It was a cool, clear night, typical for mid June. She shivered a little in the breeze, and stood at the rail overlooking the small patio and garden behind the pub. Pale light from the waning moon illuminated her rose bushes growing along the garden fence. They'd been nearly dead when she'd first moved in, but she'd managed to nurse them back to health and now they were flourishing. The garden was cluttered with pots and containers full of flowering plants that she'd grown up from seeds herself, encouraged by her success with the roses.

Her favorite was the star jasmine. She had initially planted it downstairs by the patio door, hoping to train it to climb up the wall. It was just beginning to spread when some idiot drunken customer had poured an entire pitcher of beer onto its roots. She'd managed to save it, but just barely - now it lived in a pot with a small trellis on the balcony, and was slowing gaining back some of its old life. It was flowering now - the delicate five-petaled white blossoms filled the little balcony with the sweetest perfume.

Brigid breathed in the scent of the jasmine, then crunched into the sour apple. Annoying as it could be, she loved the way that James reminded her to eat one every day - full of folic acid, he'd tell her. Good for the baby. They hadn't planned it, the baby. But sometimes they ran out of condoms, and one night it just…happened. She'd been afraid to tell James when she'd first realized it, afraid of how he'd react - he'd never brought up the subject of having children. Not after their fake wedding, not when friends joked about it with them, not even when it had become clear to them both that she wasn't ever going to leave, for Spain or anywhere else.

But he'd been ecstatic with the news, and for the first time in years she felt like she was truly _home_.

And now that damned bastard MI-6 agent wanted to take it all away from her.

Her first instinct was to run, leaving a brief warning for Dillon. She still had friends, scattered across the UK and Europe. She'd already spent half of her life on the run, after all, what was a few years more? James would surely go with her; he wouldn't abandon her, or the baby. He wasn't like that.

…he'd go with her, but it would mean him giving up on the dream he'd always had, of making a difference in the world. Would he resent her for taking him away from that? Before tonight she hadn't realized just how vested he was in joining up with Dillon and the Cause. Him and his damn pride. Would he think her a coward, if she told him that she wanted to run instead of fight? What if he _didn't_ go with her?

That last thought seized her heart in an iron grip. She had to hold onto him, no matter what. She couldn't raise a child on her own; she'd be her mother all over again. Brigid knew herself well enough to know that that was a future that she couldn't avoid - not if she was alone in the world, and she'd been alone for too damn long.

She could run, and hope that James could forgive her enough to go with her; her only other option was to let MI-6 arrest them both. And lose her only chance at having a real family.

Brigid tossed her apple core down into the garden and gazed up at the sky. With the bright moon and the scent of jasmine in the air, she could almost imagine that she was back at her grandmother's house in Carrickmore, in the County Tyrone. There weren't enough stars here though - in Carrickmore, the stars had lit up the night.

As she stared up at the stars, her mind drifting back to the past, she felt a sudden chill run through her, a cold that buried itself deep down in her bones. It _hurt_. The stars swam before her eyes, as if she had double vision, but it wasn't, because suddenly the moon was gone and the stars were all…wrong. She raised a hand to her pounding head, the feathers at her wrist brushing her cheek.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" An intense, worried voice came as though from far distant, barely cutting through the fuzziness in her head. Strong arms were wrapped around her. She was lying on the ground, her head cradled in the crook of someone's elbow. The scent of sweat and dirt and vegetation surrounded her.

"…Hei?" she said weakly.

"Hey what? Christ, Brigid, what happened? Are you alright?"

She looked up into James' worried face. Beyond him, the moon and stars were back exactly where they'd always been. She tried to lever herself up into a sitting position. Her hand was in a pile of soil; she'd tipped over the jasmine when she'd fallen. James helped her until she was resting her head against his chest.

"I don't know," she said. That cold feeling was gone as if it had never been. "I just got dizzy, I suppose."

"Why? Is it…?" His hand pressed tentatively against her stomach. She wasn't showing yet - it was only just the end of her first trimester - but both James and she fancied that they could feel a slight swell around her middle.

"I don't know," she repeated. "I feel fine now." The chill was back, but this time it wasn't that bizarre, otherworldly chill - just the ordinary fear that something had happened to the baby.

"I'll call an ambulance, just to be safe." When she didn't let him go, he tried to remove her arms from around his neck himself, but she just held on more tightly. "I need to go get the phone, love."

He couldn't leave her; she wouldn't let him. "You were right," she said. "I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm still living in the past. I need to think about the future - our future." And there was only one way for her to secure it.


	5. Brigid III

_/News/Astronomy/15.06.98: Scientists baffled by disappearance of sunspots. Two weeks ago we reported on the unusually large number of sunspots forming on the surface of the Sun. It has been well-observed that sunspot populations rise quickly, but then fall off slowly over the eleven-year solar cycle. It was a shock, then, when solar physicists today snapped a photo of the Sun's surface to find it completely devoid of sunspots. _

"_It is certainly strange," NASA's Dr. Alford commented. "And as of yet we have no conclusive explanation for the sudden lack of solar activity. Sunspots are essentially magnetic storms on the photosphere; much like hurricanes here on Earth, they are unpredictable and chaotic. We must also keep in mind that the Sun is billions of years old, and we have only been studying it for a century or so - it isn't surprising that we should observe what to us are irregularities, but what on the timescale of the Sun's existence may be perfectly normal."/_

* * *

><p>Brigid opened the cigarette pack as soon as she stepped out of the shop. She'd promised James that she'd try harder to give them up, and she had made it one whole day, plus the entire morning. But all that time her nerves had been rubbing her raw, and when she saw the shop just up the street, she hadn't been able to stop herself going in.<p>

She lit one, her shopping bags hanging awkwardly from her arm. A woman holding two small children by the hand walked by, glanced at the store name on the bags, and gave Brigid a disapproving look. Brigid inhaled as obviously as she could and blew the stream of smoke in the woman's direction. The woman hurried on, frowning.

Brigid tried to keep her pace casual as she walked down Turnham Green towards the common. The sidewalk was crowded, full of lunchtime shoppers and people running out for a bite to eat. She navigated through the crowd carefully, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching her movements. Aside from the man who was tailing her. It was the ones you _didn't_ see who were the real danger.

It was starting to come back to her, the feel of the game. That heightened state where you became aware of every little detail of the world around you, where every stranger on the street could be a potential enemy - or a potential mark. Several times she was tempted to try and lift a wallet from unsuspecting passersby, just to see if she still had her old touch. But she decided against it. It wouldn't be right of her to steal from them for no good reason; and she didn't want to cause a scene if it turned out that she _wasn't_ up to her former standards.

There was a crossing up ahead, but she saw a break in the traffic and darted across the road. Just because she didn't care that the man was following was no reason to make it easy on him.

Chiswick Common was green and cheery. The day was nice, and she had to watch out for joggers as she made her way down the path. As she rounded a corner, two pigeons suddenly rose into the air right in front of her. They'd come from the left, she noticed, her heart in her throat. But they were pigeons. Pigeons didn't count. She raised her rosary to her lips and kissed it anyway, just to be safe.

Brigid was early to her appointment. So was Jack Simon. The junior MI-6 agent was sitting on a bench near a row of hydrangeas, arm thrown casually across the back, and reading a worn paperback novel. She couldn't read the title of the book, but the author's name was written in large letters: Ian Fleming.

"Is that what passes for training in the SIS these days?" Brigid said. She set her shopping down on the bench and took a seat on the far side, crossing one leg over the other. She flicked the ash from her cigarette onto the ground. Her shadow was currently lurking behind an oak tree just up the path.

Even with his sunglasses on, the annoyance was clear on Simon's face. He was wearing a white suit again - Brigid wondered if the stain had been that easy to get out, or if he just had a closet full of white suits. She was betting on the latter. Simon continued to hold the book as if he was really reading it, but he turned his head slightly in her direction.

"I trust nothing was seriously wrong the other night? You made it back home quickly enough, in any case."

If he was trying to spook her by letting her know that he was keeping an eye on her, it wasn't going to work. She shrugged, tapping her foot against the side of her leg. "Just a dizzy spell. The ER doctor said it happens sometimes - more blood flow is diverted to the uterus during pregnancy, and it can make some women lightheaded when they stand up or lean over. Or something." He'd also said that it could cause a temporary numb feeling in the extremities, but that wasn't what she'd felt; not even close.

"Here's a tip you won't find in your book," Brigid continued, raising her cigarette to her lips, "that you might want to tell your friend behind the tree there: if you're a man tailing a woman, it's generally not the smartest idea to follow her into a maternity clothing shop. You tend to stand out." She'd picked him up long before that, of course; she'd only gone in to see if he'd follow. And he had.

And then she'd thought that since she was there, she might as well do some shopping. Maternity fashion was sadly lacking in black; but she'd promised James that she'd try and let go of the past, so she'd picked out a couple of tops in navy blue and deep purple. It was a start.

Simon sighed wearily, then coughed as the wind shifted and blew the cigarette smoke towards him. "I don't exactly have the resources that my senior colleagues do. But I'll be honest, I was expecting to have to call in the police to arrest you on the way out of the country that night rather than keep surveillance on you. I'm surprised you're still in London, and even more surprised that you've kept your appointment with me."

Brigid used her cigarette to light another, then stamped out the old one on the bench and flicked it onto the path. "_I'll_ be honest - I _was_ going to run. I don't owe the English shit, and I'll be damned if I let some stuffed up dry shite of an MI-6 bollix force me to betray my own."

He took the insult easily enough, but she continued on before he could say anything. "How much do you know about my history?"

Simon looked back to his book as if the information was written there, and recited, "Your mother was a factory worker in Liverpool, father unknown. She died when you were thirteen; after that, you lived on the street and were in and out of trouble with the local police until you were formally arrested and charged after the incident with the fish. Instead of incarcerating you, the courts sent you to live with your maternal grandmother in County Tyrone, Northern Ireland. I believe you were sixteen when she passed away; about two years later you turned up in Belfast in the company of Dillon Fitzgerald, with whom you ran the IRA splinter group known as the Cause." He turned back to her. "As far as details go, I'm afraid that's all we have."

Brigid took a long drag on her cigarette and stared out across the green park. Her foot was still tapping restlessly against her leg; she couldn't seem to stop it. "Mam'd been dead for a week before they found her. I was used to her not coming home nights - and when she did, she usually brought one of her 'gentlemen friends', who were no gentlemen at all. So I never thought anything might be wrong, til one day the police knocked on the door of our flat to say that they'd found her in a crack house one block over. It wasn't the crack that'd killed her - it was complications from malnutrition, they said. She'd drunk all her meals and starved herself to death.

"I managed to fend for myself for a few months, until they arrested me and sent me to Carrickmore. I hadn't even known that I had a grandmother; Mam never talked about her, or about home. And it was home, the first real home I'd had. We didn't have much, but I didn't care. I had someone who actually minded how I did, who made me soup when I was ill and had fresh baked bread with marmalade waiting when I came home from school."

She'd never told James any of this; even Dillon knew only a little of it. But for some reason it was easier to spill all her secrets to a complete stranger. "Gran was never well. Always in and out of hospital. I took care of her as best I could, but there wasn't much I could do. When Gran passed, the bank took the house. I could have kept some of her things, but I had no place for them. So I sold them. All I took was what I could carry."

She lifted up her wrist to show him her grandmother's rosary. "Gran always said that when you see two magpies on the right, that's good luck. Two magpies on the left, that's bad luck. I wear the feathers on my right hand, so I'll have good luck and protection wherever I go. One of them broke when I passed out the other night. I'll have to find another."

Brigid shifted on the bench and lit yet another cigarette. "I was friends with some older kids, who'd graduated school already but couldn't find good jobs in town. We were poor; the whole town was. Poor and Catholic. It was easy to blame the English for everything that was wrong with our lives. My father was English too," she added. "I don't know much about him, but I do know that. Anyway, we all went up to Belfast together the summer that Gran died, thinking it would be better, but it wasn't. I was about a day away from selling myself on the street for the price of a cigarette when I met Dillon."

The memory of that meeting was still fresh and clear in her mind, even after all these years. It was a bitter cold day. She was standing huddled in a graffiti-covered doorway trying to keep out of the wind - she'd traded her only jacket for a stale half sandwich the day before - when a tall man a few years older than herself walked out of the building next door, a black ski cap pulled down low over his ears to protect them from the chill. He stopped in front of her doorway and lit a cigarette. When he noticed her standing there, he looked her up and down once, then held out the smoke.

"You look like you can use this more'n I," he said.

Brigid took the cigarette, raised it to her lips and inhaled once, then handed it back. The smoke of her exhalation mingled with her breath and hovered in the air for a moment. "Thanks."

He laughed, green eyes twinkling. "You can have the whole thing, love."

"I don't need your fecking charity, ye maggoty gobshite," she told him, and looked away.

He laughed again, harder this time. "Well said, love, well said - sure you don't need charity, we none of us do. It's work we need. If you want to work, I might have a job for you."

She assumed that he meant prostitution; but what choice did she have? It was that or freeze on the street. And anyway, she liked his laugh. So she went with him - and to her surprise, he brought her not to a brothel, but to the abandoned loft where the members of the group that would soon be called the Cause were meeting; most of them lived there, too. There was food, and blankets to sleep on, and good cheer despite the trying times. And the force that held them all together was Dillon.

How could she explain to Simon what that cigarette had meant to her? "Dillon was…Dillon was fire, and passion. He was life itself. He had a dream for the future that he believed in with his whole being, and it was infectious. He taught me the game, and I never felt so alive as I did during a mission when the adrenaline was running high. But it was more than that. The Cause was my friends, my family, my entire reason for existing. Dillon _saved_ me."

She turned and looked Simon dead in the eye. "Do you have any idea what it's like, being asked to betray someone you love as much as your own life?"

"No," he said, and removed his sunglasses. The compassion in his blue eyes surprised her.

They sat in silence for a long minute. Brigid let her cigarette burn down to the filter; she felt too drained to light another.

"Am I to assume, then, that you've decided to turn yourself in?" Simon asked her at last. He sounded disappointed.

"No," she said, proud of the way her voice didn't shake. "I'm taking you up on your offer."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Then why tell me all of that?"

She gave him a hard look. "I want you to understand exactly what it is I'm betraying for you. But I have one condition: no one finds out. Not Dillon, not James, no one. Not ever."

"We can probably manage that," Simon said slowly. "Why are you agreeing to this, if I may ask?"

Brigid tossed her cigarette butt into the grass and ground it out with her foot. "I guess I've always been selfish at heart. It's what's best for our future, James' and mine. He gets to have his moment of glory, and realize that it's not all it's cracked up to be; I get one last chance to play the game. Then our slates are wiped clean, and we go on living just the same as before - right?" She let her voice drop dangerously low at that last word.

Simon nodded. "That's the deal. Of course, Fitzgerald will go to prison."

"I'm not worried about Dillon. He'll have them all on strike for prisoners' rights in a week, sure." She laughed, but with little mirth. "He just can't know it was me betrayed him. He'd never forgive me, and it'll be hard enough to live with myself after this without that weighing on me too."

"You have my word that Fitzgerald won't find out about your involvement from us," Simon told her, and she believed him. There were too many cracks in his poker face for him to be any sort of liar. MI-6 bastard or no.

Simon tucked his novel into his jacket pocket, and his voice turned businesslike again. "Our next step then is to get in touch when Fitzgerald makes contact with you. Do you think that will be soon?"

Brigid smiled. "Sure and I saw him the other night at the pub, didn't I." She laughed at the look of disbelief on his face. He really hadn't noticed Dillon walk in, so focused had he been on watching her.

"I don't know any of the details yet," she said, "because you kept me out in the front of the house while they were talking in the back. James and I are going down to Southall day after next to meet the rest of the crew. We'll talk specifics then. But from what James told me, it sounds like Dillon has something big planned."

Simon frowned at her. "I want to catch them in the act, as I told you - conviction will be more sure that way. But my superiors would not be very pleased with me if people actually get hurt."

"Don't worry. I can usually talk Dillon down from his more dangerous schemes; no one will get hurt." _People _are_ more important than a cause, after all_.


	6. Tian III

_/News/Astronomy/16.06.98/Goiania, Brazil: Mysterious shadow over South America. For the past two nights, the night sky over Brazil has gone completely dark. Despite little to no cloud cover, neither the stars nor the moon have been visible to the naked eye. It's as if a black shadow has blanketed the sky - a shadow that appears to be spreading. Goiania's citizens lost sight of the night sky not long after midnight, June 14th; last night, observers as far north as Fortaleza, Brazil, and as far south as Buenos Aires, watched as their stars failed to appear at nightfall. Even the powerful telescopic arrays at the Northeastern Space Radio Observatory are unable to penetrate the shadow._

_According to a press release by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, citizens have nothing to be concerned about. Satellite feeds are lost as they cross over the area, but they return once passed. While the underlying cause of the phenomenon has yet to be determined, thus far it doesn't appear to be dangerous. There has been speculation of a link to the recent unusual solar activity; however, the daytime sky appears to be unaffected. _

_What will happen if this nighttime shadow continues to spread outward until it eventually engulfs the entire globe, the experts have not yet commented./_

* * *

><p>The last few weeks before summer vacation seemed to drag on forever. It wasn't that Tian didn't like school; he had a group of friends that he played football* and basketball with during breaks, and he did alright in his classes. He just got so bored sitting in the same seat for hours on end, stuck in a crowded, stifling classroom. And as the weather got hotter, classes became even more unbearable.<p>

Today it worse than ever. Not the heat - the feeling of being trapped inside. The strange phenomenon that the other side of the world was experiencing had been all over the news last night. Tian didn't normally watch the news, but he'd been sitting in the kitchen working on his homework with Xing when Mother had turned on the television and they'd seen the first reports.

Tian gazed distractedly out the window at a clear, cloudless sky. He had been finding it hard to pay attention to his teacher all day; now so close to dismissal, it was almost impossible. Who cared about some dead old emperor? He couldn't wait to get home. Father had promised that they could set up the telescope tonight, even though it was almost impossible to see anything in the middle of the city. Tian didn't like the idea of the stars vanishing from sight; he wanted to reassure himself that they were still there.

"Mr. Chun, sir?"

The question drew Tian's attention back to the classroom. The girl in the desk next to his, Mi Song, had her hand raised.

Their teacher looked up from the book he was reading from, surprised. Students didn't usually interrupt him when he was in full flow. "Yes, Mi?" he said, frowning slightly over the tops of his bifocals.

Song blushed a little at being the center of attention. "Um, I was wondering - I saw on the news last night, about the stars? Did they - did they really disappear?"

The rest of the class was listening in rapt attention now. It had been a hot topic at lunchtime, at least among those students who had heard the news; the general consensus was that aliens must be involved somehow. That idea was a little spooky. Tian had spent hours upon hours gazing up at the stars, imaging what it would be like to travel to other worlds. Sometimes he'd wondered about whether or not there were aliens out there; but somehow, he thought not. The stars just looked too cold and lonely to be home to any life. Though if aliens did exist, they probably looked at Earth through their own telescopes, and thought the same thing.

Mr. Chun glanced at the clock, and sighed wearily. "I suppose the legacy of Qin Er Shi can wait until tomorrow." He closed his book, then folded his arms. "Did the stars disappear? Well, what is it that the news reports are saying?"

"They say that the stars above South America are gone. You can't even see them with a telescope," Song said, worry in her voice. "Does that mean they fell, like meteors?"

Tian spoke up before he could stop himself. "Stars can't fall," he said. "Where would they fall _to_?"

"A very good point, Li," Mr. Chun nodded. "Meteors are pieces of space debris, that fall through our atmosphere. Stars are huge gaseous bodies with strong gravitational pulls that have existed for billions of years. When they change, it's over time, astronomers are able to observe them; if they somehow suddenly 'fell', entire galaxies would fall apart."

"But then why are they vanishing? And the moon, too," Song persisted.

Mr. Chun gave an uncomfortable shrug, and Tian began to suspect that their teacher didn't actually have all the answers. "I'm sure the astronomers have a good idea, and we'll hear the answer when they figure it out. It sounds more as if the stars are still there, just blocked from view. After all, the moon vanished when it was over Brazil last night, but how many of you saw it this morning?"

Tian raised his hand, but he was one of only a few. He heard a snort from Jiang in the seat behind his. His cousin considered Tian to be very nearly as nerdy as Jiao-tu.

"Well, for those of you less astute observers, it was there," Chun said. "Which means that it didn't suddenly cease to exist while it was over Brazil."

"Maybe it did, and the one here is just a fake," Jiang suggested with sarcasm in his voice.

Their teacher folded his arms. "And how could we tell if that was the case, Xu?"

"Uh," Jiang stammered, clearly not expecting to be put on the spot. Song turned in her seat in expectation of an answer.

Tian bailed him out. "The tides," he said. "The moon makes the tides rise and fall; if the moon was really gone for Brazil, the ocean would be all messed up." Jiang kicked the back of his chair in thanks.

"Not the most technical explanation, but essentially correct. The moon's gravitational pull on the Earth is responsible for the tides; if that force were to vanish, well, so would the tides. As far as I know, the oceans have been behaving normally since the moon disappeared from view Sunday morning. So, Xu, what does that tell us?"

"That, uh, the moon didn't, um, go away? I mean, it was always there, even if they couldn't see it?"

Mr. Chun nodded, but before he could respond, the clock rang out the hour. There was a rush of activity as the students packed up their things and bolted to the door, Tian and Jiang among them. "Don't forget your history reading tonight!" Mr. Chun called to the backs of his departing pupils.

No one besides Song was really much concerned about what was happening, Tian realized. South America was on the other side of the world, a place where most of them had no desire go, and even fewer were ever likely to; half of his peers had trouble remembering that it was a continent, not just some large, vague country. Tian didn't even know what language they spoke there. He idly thought about looking it up, but that was one of those facts that you learned in school to pass an exam, then forgot. There was no practical reason to know it.

Jiang punched his shoulder as soon as they were outside. "Why'd you have to go asking questions?"

Tian punched him back. "I didn't, it was Song. You wouldn't have been called on if you weren't being obnoxious."

His cousin shrugged off the charge. "Well, it was a dumb question anyway. It's going to be aliens who are causing it, I bet you anything."

"Do you really think so?"

Both boys turned in surprise. Song was standing right behind them, her eyes wide as she clutched her binder to her chest. Another girl was with her, wavy black hair pulled back into an intricate braid; Na, Tian thought her name was. She had only recently moved to the area and was in a different class, so Tian didn't know her well. He always saw her with Song, though.

"I mean, aliens?" Song continued as the four made their way across the schoolyard. "Why? What would they want with South America?"

"Who knows," Jiang said loftily. "Maybe they're looking for gold. That's why the explorers all sailed to Portugal in the first place."

Song listened to Jiang with rapt attention, but Na rolled her eyes. "Portugal is in Europe, dummy," she said. Tian tried not to laugh.

"Then why do they speak Portuguese in South America?" Jiang demanded. Of course, Tian thought, Portuguese. How did Jiang know that?

"Because the explorers were _from_ Portugal," Na explained with all the patience of someone whose dog had just chewed up their favorite pair of shoes for the tenth time. "And that's just Brazil; everywhere else speaks Spanish."

Jiang opened his mouth to protest, when Tian spotted their sisters up ahead, just inside the school's gate. "What's going on with them?" he asked out loud, before Jiang had a chance to dig himself into a deeper hole.

Xing and Jiao-tu were standing with a boy who looked to be Jiao-tu's age. The boy was laughing while Jiao-tu shuffled her feet, her face turned away. Xing had her hands on her hips, and looked, of all things, angry. Tian and Jiang watched as the boy reached out and pulled Jiao-tu's glasses from her face and dropped them on the ground.

"Hey!" Jiang sprinted to the gate; Tian was right behind him, Song and Na forgotten. Jiang reached the boy and gave him a hard shove; the boy stumbled back into the block wall. "Beat it, and leave my sister alone!" Jiang raised his fist in a not-so-subtle threat. The boy looked as though he wanted to fight back; but at the sight of Jiang's fist he quailed, then turned tail and ran.

"Dog fart," Jiang muttered under his breath.

Tian bent down and picked up Jiao-tu's purple-framed glasses and handed them back to her. She wiped her running nose on her sleeve and took them, examining the lenses for scratches.

"What was that about?" Tian asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets uncertainly. He hoped that she wasn't going to start crying.

It was Xing who answered. "Ma Sheng was teasing her about having to wear glasses," she said. "He wouldn't stop, even after I asked him to." Tian had to smile at the puzzled tone in her voice; Xing wasn't used to people ignoring her.

Jiao-tu, apparently satisfied that her glasses hadn't come to harm, shoved them into her school bag with a scowl. "Boys are so stupid," she said. She seemed to be addressing the universe at large, so Tian felt alright not answering her.

Song and Na arrived at the little group. "That was very brave," Song told Jiang, her eyes shining.

Jiang shrugged off the compliment, and turned down the street, the others falling into step behind. Song hovered at his elbow. "Nah," he said. "Little twerp like that - I could take him with my eyes closed." But his chest puffed up a bit with pride.

"Your cousin is kind of a bully," said a soft voice beside Tian. He hadn't realized that Na had come up to walk beside him.

"No he isn't," Tian protested. "That kid started it, picking on Jiao-tu like that."

Na didn't look convinced."He was only a little kid; Jiang didn't need to push him so hard."

Jiang _had_ pushed the boy kind of hard. But that didn't make him a bully; Honglian was a bully, shoving people down for no reason at all. "I would have done the same thing if I'd gotten there first," Tian insisted, shifting his book bag on his shoulder.

"Would you really?" Na had a slight smile on her face, like she didn't believe him.

Truthfully, Tian didn't know _what _he would have done, had he reached Jiao-tu before Jiang. He would have told the boy off, maybe; he probably could have threatened him without actually hitting him. That was probably what Grandfather would have wanted him to do. Tian thought back to their conversation two weeks ago; he hadn't been able to think of an answer to Grandfather's question yet, and the old man hadn't brought up the subject again. Tian figured that he still had some time. Honglian went to the high school, and they only ever ran into each other at wushu competitions; the next one wasn't for another month.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Tian said. He suddenly realized that with Jiang and Song in front, and Xing and Jiao-tu trailing behind, the two of them were practically alone. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Um," he said, for lack of anything better to say. He was terrible at talking to girls.

Fortunately, Na was a better conversationalist. "So what do you think?" she asked. "About the stars?"

"I don't know," Tian admitted. " I don't think it's aliens, though."

"Hm, me either. Song's right - it doesn't make any sense for aliens to be screwing around with stars in South America." She looked up at the clear, bright sky. Tian followed her gaze, even though there was nothing to see. "I hope that whatever it is, it doesn't reach here. I'd miss the stars too much. Not that I can see many of them here anyway."

She sounded slightly wistful. Her eyes were kind of pretty, Tian realized. Dark brown. And there was a smattering of freckles across her nose…his stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he grasped at something to say. "Did you live out in the country before you moved here?"

"Mm-hm. Moshang, out in the mountains to the west. My dad got a good job here with his brother, so we had to move. I can't get used to how bright the lights are at night."

Tian shrugged. "It's not so bad; with a telescope, you can still see a few stars."

"Do you have a telescope?" Na turned to him with interest.

"Yeah - well, it's my dad's. He said I could set it up tonight, if he gets home early enough. It's not as good as being out in the country, but it's better than nothing."

Tian became aware of a giggling, snorting kind of sound behind him, as if someone was trying desperately to hold in laughter. He turned back to see Jiao-tu biting her lip, a crooked smile on her face. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," his cousin said, and let out a giggle. "You should ask Na if she wants to watch the stars with you."

"Uh," Tian said, his face heating slightly.

Xing smiled brightly. "That would be fun! Na, do you want to come over to our house and look at the stars?"

Na was looking a little embarrassed as well. "I have a lot of history reading to do tonight," she said, suddenly shy. "But…maybe another time?"

"Sure," Tian said as nonchalantly as he could manage. "That'd be nice."

~~~~o~~~~

Tian and Xing didn't get home until dinner time. The boys had wushu practice after school every day; the girls didn't have dance class on Tuesdays, so Xing passed the time alternately doing her homework with Jiao-tu, or joining her cousin in watching the practice and cheering on their brothers. To Tian's embarrassment, Jiang had invited Song - and therefore Na - to stay and watch the wushu as well. Jiang did even better than usual, but for some reason Tian felt even more self-conscious than he had at the Dragon Boat Festival. Grandfather reprimanded him sharply whenever his focus slipped; Uncle would give him a wink every time he caught Tian determinedly _not_ looking at the little cluster of observers. He kept up a constant mantra in his head about avoiding distractions - though it didn't help much.

The door to their apartment was locked when Tian turned the handle; he retrieved a spare key from under the mat and let Xing and himself in. Father had a lecture on Tuesday evenings so his absence was expected; Mother was usually home by now, though.

The phone rang almost as soon as they walked inside. "I'll get it!" Xing exclaimed, and raced ahead of him into the kitchen. Tian dropped his school bag down by the door and followed her.

"Hello? Hi, Mama!" His sister held the phone with both hands, a habit from her toddler play-phone days that she still hadn't grown out of. "Yes, we just got home. Yes, he's here. Okay, bye Mama." She held the phone out to Tian.

"Hi sweetie," Mother said when he'd answered. "I'm sorry I missed you at Grandfather's; Yafang said that you didn't eat before you left?"

"No," Tian said. "She hadn't finished cooking yet, and we wanted to walk home before it got too dark." When Mother had to stay late or cover someone else's shift, she would call ahead so that Tian and Xing could stay at the Xu family residence for dinner; then she or Father would stop by to walk them home when they got off of work. It wasn't safe for Xing to walk alone at night of course, but Tian was more than old enough to be out on his own; he wished that his parents would stop treating him like a little kid.

"Well, I won't be home for another two hours, and Father has his class tonight. Do you think you can fix something for your sister and yourself? I was going to make beef noodles. The beef steak is already in the refrigerator, it should be thawed by now."

"I can do that," Tian said, perking up. Noodles were easy - you just put them in the water and turned on the heat. The gas could be a little tricky, but he'd lit the burner by himself plenty of times. Even so, Mother walked him through each step until she was sure that he knew what he was supposed to do.

"I have to get back now - be careful, and don't burn the place down," she cautioned him.

He sighed impatiently. "Don't worry, I won't. Bye, Mom."

"Mama's not coming home?" Xing asked when he hung up, disappointment in her voice.

"Not until after dinner." Tian started opening cupboards, looking for the tools that he would need. "She said I could cook it - want to help?"

Xing's mood brightened back up once she started helping him with the food. She measured out the water and the noodles, and found the pan to cook the beef in. The place felt a little lonely with just the two of them, so Tian turned on the old black and white television that sat in the corner by the table. He was hoping for more details about the disappearing stars, but at present the news anchors were discussing some political decision in Hong Kong that didn't sound interesting at all.

It wasn't until the noodles were well on their way to being done and he was working on slicing the steak that the topic turned to astronomy. He'd gotten out the big knife that Mother always used for slicing meat, but it was awkward in his hands; he could never figure out how to hold it right. And the steak wasn't as easy to slice through as Mother always made it look.

He was carefully trimming off a piece of squishy white fat when the news reporter said, "And in news from beyond the Earth today, American astronauts are counting their lucky stars." They then played a clip of an astronaut giving a press conference interview. Tian squinted at the translation on the bottom of the small screen. The space shuttle _Columbia_ had landed successfully on June 12th, just two days before South American satellite communications began having problems; if the shuttle had been scheduled to land this week instead and lost contact with the space center, that could have been disastrous.

"This is boring," Xing complained, sitting at the table with her chin in her hand. Her snake charm dangled against her wrist.

Tian pressed the knife into the tough beef, looking up distractedly at the screen. "No it's not," he said. "How often does something crazy like the stars vanishing happen?"

Xing considered. "It would be more fun to go into space and watch from there," she decided.

Now they were talking about a Russian satellite launch…it had been intended to send the satellite into a high, geosynchronous orbit yesterday, but something went wrong and the satellite ended up in low Earth orbit instead, whatever that was. The expert they were interviewing said that low Earth satellites were unaffected by the strange shadow over Brazil, and the scientists were debating whether or not that could have affected the Russian launch. That didn't make any sense to Tian. If the shadow was over South America, how could -

"_Ow!_" He dropped the knife with a loud clatter and looked down at his hand dumbly. Blood was gushing from cut along the side of his finger; he'd sliced his hand instead of the steak.

"Oh no!" Xing jumped up from the table and ran over to look. "Wait, I'll fix it!" she said, then darted from the room.

The sight of all the blood momentarily froze Tian in place. Then his finger started throbbing painfully, jolting him back to his senses. He turned on the tap and ran water over the cut, gritting his teeth against the sting of the cool stream. What were you supposed to do with a bad cut - put pressure on it? He squeezed the base of his finger, but the blood still kept pumping out. It hurt bad; he might have cut all the way to the bone, but he was too afraid to look. He was feeling a little dizzy; how much blood could you lose before you died?

Xing raced back into the kitchen, clutching her first aid kit. Mother had put it together for her for her last birthday; it wasn't a toy, even if so far her only patients had been dolls and stuffed animals. Xing set the little plastic box onto the table and rooted around in it. She pulled out a roll of gauze. "Here," she said, "wrap this around your hand so it stops bleeding."

Tian turned off the water and did as she said, trying to squash down his panic. The bleeding was slowing down a bit; maybe he hadn't cut so deep after all. He pressed the gauze against the gash; once the blood had slowed to a trickle, Xing inspected the cut with the serious demeanor of a professional.

"You don't need stitches," she declared, not fazed by the blood at all. "Just a band-aid." She instructed him on how to apply an antibiotic cream to "kill the germies", then carefully positioned a bandage over the cut and made sure it was secure.

"Why don't you want to be a doctor?" Tian asked, admiring her handiwork. "They're much more important than nurses."

Xing didn't look up from replacing her materials in the box. "Mama says that it's nurses who do all the work of helping people, and doctors get all the thank yous. I don't want thank yous, I just want to help people."

Tian smiled.

It was even more awkward trying to slice the steak with his bandaged finger, and he eventually gave up. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he was a little afraid of cutting himself again. So, he replaced the beef in the refrigerator and he and Xing split the pot of noodles between them. At least, Xing ate some, and he ate the rest. It wasn't very satisfying, and by the time Mother got home his stomach was growling again. She cooked the steak, after examining his cut and deciding that Xing was right, and he didn't need stitches.

"What time is Dad getting home?" he asked later, when they were all on the sofa watching Tian and Mother's favorite television show, about a gang of outlaw bandits during the Song Dynasty. Well, Tian and Mother were watching it; Xing was asleep, her head resting on Mother's lap.

Mother combed her fingers through Xing's straight black hair. "Well, if he missed the eight-thirty bus, probably not until almost ten. I know you wanted to set up the telescope tonight, but that's really too late; you have school in the morning."

"Yeah," Tian said glumly.

"There's always tomorrow night."

He shrugged. "I know. But…what if the stars disappear here too?"

"You don't need to worry about things like that," Mother said gently, reaching over to pat his cheek. "If they disappear, then they disappear. We have to take the world as it is, changes and all."

"That sounds like one of Grandfather's zen things," Tian said suspiciously.

Mother laughed her familiar laugh, soft yet full of life. "It probably is; I certainly heard enough of them growing up for one or two to stick. Why don't you help me get your sister to bed, then you can stay up and watch the rest of the show with me?"

~~~~o~~~~

Later that night, Tian lay in bed, still wide awake and unable to sleep. His bed was next to the window in the room he shared with his sister; a light breeze blew in, twisting the tassels on his good-luck medallion and doing nothing to dispel the heavy summer heat. Xing's soft, even breathing was scarcely audible, but Tian always listened for it anyway.

The only view from the window was of the apartment building next door; but even if it had been unobstructed, the glow from the city's lights was usually too great for even the brightest star to be visible. It was so much better out in the country. Father had a little house in the Wangshun Mountains south of the city, that he'd inherited from his parents. They usually spent a couple of weeks up there during the summer when school was on vacation. Facing away from Xi'an, there were tens of thousands of stars that could be seen, maybe even more. Tian could spend all night lying outside, staring up at the night sky. He didn't blame Na for having trouble adjusting to the city.

The thought of the girl from his year left him with an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, and he rolled over and buried his head under his pillow. Why did he have to be such a dunce when it came to talking with girls? Na had come up to him after wushu practice and told him what a great job he'd done even though he knew that he'd been terrible; all he'd been able to do was stammer out a pathetic 'thanks'. And Jiao-tu had only made things worse, trying not-so-subtly to get him to invite Na over for star-gazing. He hoped that she and Song didn't come to practice again tomorrow. But still…she had complimented him. And when Shi had tried to insinuate himself into their conversation (such as it was), Na had politely said hello, then ignored him completely in favor of Tian.

Tian smiled to himself.

After a while, he heard Father come home. He didn't know what time it was, but it must have been late; the soft voices of his parents drifted in from the main room for only a few minutes before the strip of light beneath his bedroom door went out and all was quiet in the little apartment.

Tian was just beginning to drift off into a soft, warm sleep when he became aware of a quiet whimpering noise. He sat up and looked over at Xing; a narrow strip of light from the window illuminated her small form across the room. She was curled up on her side, shaking. A nightmare, he was sure.

Tian got up and crossed to her bed. He put a hand on her shoulder and rolled her onto her back. She was sound asleep, still whimpering softly, eyes moving rapidly beneath their lids. He shook her shoulder gently. "Xing, wake up - Xing."

His sister's eyes fluttered open. "Brother?" she asked uncertainly; then she blinked as if seeing him for the first time, and flung her arms around his neck, almost pulling him onto the bed.

"Were you having a bad dream?" Tian asked, sitting down beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Xing buried her face in his neck, her cheeks wet with tears. "I dreamed I was Bai Suzhen," she said in a quavering voice.

"What's wrong with that? I thought you liked the White Snake Lady." There was a poster of it above her bed, a print of the ink drawing that she'd been admiring at the festival. It depicted Bai Suzhen being forced to transform from a human into a snake in front of her love: a tragic part of the story. Tian didn't really understand why Xing loved it so much.

"Yes," Xing said, sniffing. "But in my dream, I wasn't good, I was bad. I ate my little sister the Green Snake, and then I ate all the other people in the world, Jiang and 'Tu and Mama and Papa and _everyone_, and then I ate the actual _world_."

Tian detached her arms from his neck. "That must have given you a pretty bad stomachache."

His attempt at lightening the mood and cheering her up had no effect. "It didn't. I was still hungry, and so I ate all the stars, even the moon."

"Well, it was just a dream. Go back to sleep, I'm sure you'll dream about nicer things now."

Xing pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. "I don't want to go back to sleep. I don't want to turn into Bai Suzhen again."

"You won't," Tian assured her, even though he had no way of making it true. "Anyway, the White Snake Lady isn't evil; if you dream you're her again, just keep telling yourself that you're good."

Xing plucked absently at her snake charm. "Will that work?"

"Of course. Now go back to sleep."

Tian returned to his bed and settled in, yawning widely. He didn't hear Xing move to lie back down though, and after a minute she asked softly, "Brother?"

"What?"

"Are you asleep yet?"

He sighed to himself. She was getting too old for this, but Xing could never go back to sleep after a bad dream, not if she was alone. And he could never bring himself to say no. "Alright," he said. "Come on."

Xing's bare feet pattered quietly across the floor and she climbed into bed with him. He turned onto his side so that they lay back to back, the warmth of her almost unbearable in the summer heat.

"'Night, Brother," Xing said, her voice already heavy with sleep.

"'Night, Xing."

* * *

><p>*<em>European football, not American<em>


	7. Tian IV

_/CIA Directorate of Science and Technology, NOAA Office of Satellite Communications, NASA joint investigative force, Internal Memo RE: Goiania, 17.06.98: NOAA team has concluded that the atmospheric location of the 'anomaly' is roughly at an elevation of 300 km, situated between the ionosphere and thermosphere. All communications and geosynchronous satellites above this elevation are cut off, as are shortwave radio communications. Low Earth orbit satellites appear to be unaffected. Extrapolating from ground-based observer reports, the 'anomaly' originated approx. 17.34.22 S, 49.18.29 W,_ _100 km southwest of Goiania. A joint US-Brazilian Army unit, which includes a field agent from the CIA DST, has been dispatched on the ground for the purpose of discovering and investigating the source of the 'anomaly'._

_Alarmingly, the atmospheric 'anomaly' still appears to be spreading, at a constant rate of 119.27 km/hr. If it continues at this rate, the entirety of the globe will be affected in less than four days from the date of this report. From midnight local time at date and locus of origin (14.06.98) and assuming 360 degree directionality, major cities will be hit e.g.: Mexico City, New York City, 2.4 days; Johannesburg, 2.8 days; Los Angeles and London, 3.2 days; Moscow, 4.0 days; Sydney, 4.9 days; Hong Kong, 6.3 days; finally converging in Tokyo at noon local time on June 21, the day of the solstice._

_Recommendation: preventative steps to ensure civil security, both locally and globally./_

* * *

><p>The next day of school was just as tedious as the previous day had been. Mr. Chun was unwilling to host any further discussion of the South American happenings, and instead insisted that his class focus on their schoolwork all day long. Tian could hardly pay attention at all. He wanted to know what was happening with the stars. And…Song had appeared at Grandfather's in the morning to walk to school with Jiang; Na hadn't been with her. Tian had been a little disappointed at that. His stomach gave a nervous little leap every time he though of Na, though he couldn't say why.<p>

Maybe she would walk home with them again; he wanted to ask her what her favorite constellations were. From their short talks yesterday he'd gotten the impression that she knew quite a lot about the stars, more than most other kids his age did.

The bell rang for dismissal at last, and Tian's spirits lifted when he saw that Na was waiting for Song outside their classroom. Her hair was braided again, and her bangs were held back by sparkley silver, star-shaped clips. However, any hopes that he might have had in talking with her again were quickly dashed by Song.

"Na and I are going to stay and do some studying," Song told them, "so we can't come watch your practice today. I wanted to come - and Na did too - but her mother is picking her up from the school later and I promised that I would keep her company."

Tian rubbed the back of his head absently. "Oh, um, that's alright. We aren't going to do anything interesting today anyway, just some balance work."

Jiang threw an arm around his shoulders and grinned. "Don't say it's not interesting," he chided, then turned to the girls. "We have to balance on one leg for as long as possible; most of us can't make it past forty seconds, but Tian has the record. What was it last time, sixty-two seconds?"

"Sixty-four," Tian said grudgingly. It was true, he was good at balance work; but Jiang didn't need to draw attention to him like that.

Then Na said, "Wow, so long? That's pretty amazing," and she smiled at him. "Do you think you'll beat your record today?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe. I don't really worry about records." Tian stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"You're too modest," Jiang told him with a frown when they'd left the school building, Na giving Tian a shy little wave which he awkwardly returned. "You'll never impress girls like that."

"I'm not trying to impress girls," Tian protested, his face heating a little. He wished that he was as confident as his cousin always seemed to be. He should have complimented Na on her silver hair clips. Girls liked compliments, right?

Jiang snorted. "Geez, are you sure you weren't adopted?"

Xing and Jiao-tu joined them at the gate to the schoolyard, Xing swinging her bag beside her and chatting away about everything that had happened to her and her friends at recess. Apparently it involved a tortoise who had wandered into the yard from who knows where, but Tian wasn't really paying attention. Neither was Jiao-tu: she'd pulled a book out of her school bag and was reading as they walked. Without her glasses on, she had to hold it almost against her nose to see the characters. Tian had to catch her elbow before she walked into the corner of the gate.

The little group had hardly turned down the street when a boy appeared on the sidewalk ahead of them. After a moment, Tian recognized him as the kid who had been picking on Jiao-tu yesterday. At first, Tian thought that the boy didn't see them, or else didn't recognize Jiang; surely he wouldn't be walking with such confidence towards them otherwise. But then he saw the grin on the boy's face, and started to get worried.

Jiang recognized him too. "What's that twerp want?" he muttered darkly.

The boy stopped calmly in his tracks about ten yards away and pointed at Jiang and Tian. It didn't make any sense at first; then from out of an alleyway stepped Honglian and his two cronies. Tian tightened his grip on his book bag nervously.

Honglian stepped up next to the boy, his friends fanning out beside him. He pressed his fist into his hand menacingly.

"Heard you were pushing my little brother around yesterday," he said, and cracked his knuckles. Tian's heart sank. Honglian's brother? There was no way they'd be able to walk away from this without someone - probably Jiang - throwing a punch first.

"Your brother was bullying my sister!" Jiang shot back, completely unafraid of the older boys. "He shouldn't have started a fight that he couldn't finish!"

"So we'll finish it for him," one of the others sneered.

The little boy was hanging back behind his older brother, grinning from ear to ear, Tian saw with disgust. "What, it takes all three of you?" he said angrily.

"Shut up, dweeb; we'll use you for a blue-eyed punching bag once we're through with this trash."

"I'm going to go get a teacher," Jiao-tu said, eyes wide. She turned on her heel and bolted towards the school, trying to stuff her book back into her bag as she ran.

Tian turned to his sister. "You should go with her, Xing," he said.

Xing had an upset look on her face. "Don't fight!" she begged him, clutching his sleeve.. "Someone might get hurt!"

"Don't worry, Xing. Those dog farts are the only ones who are going to get hurt," Jiang said. He dropped his school bag on the ground and moved into a defensive stance. Honglian and the other two did likewise.

Tian carefully lowered his own bag to the ground and detached Xing's hand from his arm, pulse racing. Jiang couldn't take on all three at once; Tian could probably keep one of them occupied for a while, fending off attacks until Jiang had finished with Honglian. But that still left the third boy; unless Tian went on the offensive, he didn't see a good outcome in the future. He tried to think of a way to talk Jiang and Honglian down, but his mind was a complete blank.

Brow sweating, he walked up next to Jiang slowly and mimicked his stance.

"I'll take Honglian and the one on the left," Jiang muttered to him. "You take the other one."

Tian didn't answer; he was still trying to come up with a way out. Behind him, Xing gave a nervous little whimper.

The boy on the left made a false start forward. Jiang didn't budge an inch, but Tian automatically took a step back, heart pounding. The boy snickered. The boy on the right was slowly edging away from Honglian, to come up on Tian's flank. Tian turned slightly, trying to keep his opponent in sight without taking his eyes off of Honglian. The little brother, standing well clear, was hooting and shouting for the fight to get started already, but everyone ignored him.

Honglian shifted his weight; both Jiang and Tian tensed.

Then someone suddenly pushed passed Tian, nearly throwing him off balance in his surprise. He blinked; Xing?

Before he could catch her, she'd run up to Honglian. "Please don't fight," she said, twisting the hem of her school uniform shirt in her small hands. "Jiang's sorry he pushed Sheng, he'll apologize."

"I'm not sorry," Jiang said, indignant. "And I'm not apologizing to that twerp!"

"Another blue-eyed freak, is it? Out of the way," Honglian said impatiently, and to Tian's horror, he reached out and pushed Xing roughly to the side. She lost her balance and fell, landing with an audible smack on the hard sidewalk.

Tian struck without warning, before he himself even realized what he was doing. One second he was watching Xing fall, the next he had closed the space between himself and the older boy and his fist was connecting with Honglian's jaw. It hurt his hand, but he hardly felt it. His training instincts kicked in; he blocked the bigger boy's wild swing with his forearm, following it with a body strike, the palm of his hand scoring a direct hit to the solar plexus.

Honglian dropped to his knees, wheezing for breath. Tian would have left him there, but Honglian gathered his legs beneath him and lashed out with a savage kick, striking a sharp blow to Tian's shin. Pain raced up his leg, but he ignored it and kicked hard at the teenager's shoulder reflexively. Honglian fell back, still gasping for air.

Jiang and the other two leapt into the fight, and Tian didn't have time to think; just like with the practice dummy, all he could do was react. One of Honglian's friends came after him now, and Tian desperately fended off a flurry of attacks. The boy was stronger than him, but Tian was faster, even with his aching leg. Several times he saw an opening for an offensive strike that might have ended the fight, but he never took it. He had seen a trickle of blood on Honglian's lip where he'd punched him; he hadn't meant to do that. He didn't want to hurt Honglian or this other boy.

Honglian was recovering his breath; out of the corner of his eye, Tian saw him throw himself forward in a tackle. Tian jumped back quickly, but landed hard on his sore leg and fell over backwards. The other boy wasn't expecting that - either the move or the fall - and accidentally let his momentum carry him too far forward in a hand strike, just in time to collide with Honglian. The two older teenagers crashed to the sidewalk in a confused heap.

Now would be the perfect time to run; from his uncomfortable position on the ground, Tian looked over at Jiang, hoping to catch his eye. But Jiang was still in the middle of his fight, going at it like it was the final round in a province-level tournament.

Honglian and the other boy were getting up, both glaring at him angrily. Tian's shin felt like it was on fire; he didn't know how well he could stand, let alone fight. His heart was thudding in his chest from a mixture of exertion and fear.

Then he heard pounding feet racing down the sidewalk, and voices were shouting, "Break it up, break it up!"

Two teachers, Mr. Chun and Mr. Yu, reached the fighters. The boy who was fighting with Jiang stopped immediately, raising his hands in defeat; Mr. Yu had to physically restrain Jiang to keep him from going after the boy again.

Honglian and the other boy eyed the teachers sullenly; Honglian wiped the blood off his chin and gave Tian a glare that promised further violence in the future. Then the two turned on their heels and headed back the way they'd come. Honglian collected his little brother on the way, pushing him ahead roughly; Sheng had a scowl on his face at the fight being interrupted. Jiang's opponent ran after them, limping a little.

Throughout the fight, Xing had remained sitting where'd she fallen; now she crawled over to where Tian still sat on the sidewalk, eyes shining with tears. "Brother, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tian lied. "What about you - look at your hands! Does it hurt?" She gave him her hands to look at; the heels were scuffed and bleeding from her fall.

"A little," she admitted, sniffing.

Jiao-tu had been hanging back behind the teachers, but now that the older boys were gone, she walked up to Xing and Tian. "Mom can clean them for you when we get home," she told Xing, eyes wide at the sight of the blood.

"How did this whole thing get started?" Mr. Chun asked the group at large. Mr. Yu was leading Jiang alongside him by the shirt collar. Except for a rapidly forming black eye, Jiang looked to be in pretty good shape. Tian got to his feet awkwardly, his shin protesting with every movement.

When neither Jiang nor Tian spoke up, Mr. Chun sighed. "Fine," he said, "you're off school grounds, so you're not my responsibility at the moment. Fighting in the street…" He shook his head in disgust. "Xu, I'm not surprised. But Li…I would have expected better of you."

Tian remained silent, his stomach souring in shame.

Mr. Chun looked the three of them - Tian, Jiang, and Xing - up and down, assessing their injuries. "Do I need to call your parents?"

"No!" Tian and Jiang exclaimed in unison.

~~~~o~~~~

Tian wasn't sure which was worse: a bruised shin, or the look on Grandfather's face when they arrived at the studio for wushu practice.

Jiang was grinning ear to ear when they walked through the door, and immediately began regaling the other students with a blow by blow account of the fight, but one stony look from Grandfather shut his mouth tighter than a steel trap. Uncle took a look at their injuries and declared them to be non-life-threatening, though he wanted them both to sit out of practice.

But Grandfather just tapped the ash from his pipe into a cup (never on the floor of the studio) and said, "No. The boys thought they should do a little warm-up before practice. Well, they're warmed up, so let them practice."

Xing threw them a worried glance as Aunt fussed over her scuffed hands, but she knew better than to argue with Grandfather. Xing was one of the few people who could ever sway him from a decision - but in wushu, his word was final. Thankfully, Aunt took both the girls inside and kept them there throughout practice.

Practice was excruciating. There was a bruise on Tian's cheekbone that he hadn't noticed during the fight; it was constantly throbbing now, and during the one-legged balance forms he could hardly stand for twenty seconds on his injured shin without wobbling and needing to put a foot down lest he fall over. Breaking his record of sixty-four seconds was definitely out of the question tonight.

Jiang was in a little better shape, until they started doing sit-ups; it seemed that he had a lightly bruised rib as well as a black eye. Grandfather finally took pity on him after one hundred, and let him do push-ups instead. The way Jiang grimaced on each one, Tian didn't think that it made much of a difference.

If Tian thought that that was the only punishment they were going to get, he was wrong.

As soon as the rest of the class left for the evening, Grandfather approached Tian and Jiang. He had his hands clasped behind his back in a businesslike manner, which was never a good sign.

"So," he said impassively. "Fighting?"

"Honglian started it," Jiang spoke up, holding a hand to his ribcage. "We were just walking down the street, when him and three of his friends came out of an alley. He pushed Xing down!"

Grandfather turned his gaze on Tian, who felt his courage flag under the heavy weight of judgment.

"It's true," he said. When that stern gaze didn't alter, he added, "Mostly. I mean, Honglian did push Xing down, because she was trying to stop the fight. But he didn't actually hit first." Tian looked down at his feet, ashamed. "I did."

Uncle sighed. "Tian, it's one thing to leave out part of the truth, but to lie outright? I'd never expect that of you."

Tian looked up in surprise. So did Jiang. They exchanged glances. "Uh," Jiang said, unsure.

Grandfather's eyes were slightly narrowed in puzzlement. "Are you telling the truth? You started the fight?"

"He pushed Xing," Tian said guiltily. "I didn't think…I just couldn't let him hurt her like that."

Tian could see the disappointment in the old man's eyes, and that was far worse than any words of disapprobation that he could possibly receive. Grandfather was silent for a long time. Then he said brusquely, "You both need to clear your heads."

"For how -" Jiang started, but the old man interrupted him.

"Until you can learn to set aside your emotions, and _think_ before you act!" Then he turned and strode across the room and to the back office, without a backwards glance.

Uncle sighed, and gestured for them to go to the wall. "You heard him. Jiang, we are going to have a talk later, just you and I." He gave his son a stern look, then followed his father into the office.

Jiang muttered a few choice curses to himself, then squared his forearms on the floor and swung his legs up into a headstand, grimacing as he did so. Tian followed suit. It was a relief to take the weight off of his leg, but blood quickly began pooling in the bruise on his face and it started throbbing painfully again.

"This is all your fault," Jiang whispered to Tian after a few seconds. "If you hadn't attacked Honglian like that - what were you thinking?"

"It's not my fault!" Tian shot back. "He pushed Xing! You were the one who practically beat up his little brother, so it's your fault!"

"Because the little snot was picking on my sister! That's not my fault!" He kicked out at Tian's leg, connecting with his ankle. Tian kicked back, nearly losing his balance. There was a minor scuffle, a flurry of wild and aimless kicks, before someone across the room cleared his throat loudly and pointedly, and they stopped, still swaying slightly.

"Actually, it's that kid's fault," Jiang said, quietly so that his father wouldn't hear. "He's the one who started it."

"Yeah," Tian agreed.

"It'll impress the girls though - we'll have to make sure to tell Na how you went after Honglian like that, she'll be impressed for sure."

Somehow, Tian didn't think so. The thought of Na's disappointment in him, on top of his teacher, Uncle, and Grandfather, made him feel a little sick.

They were quiet for a moment. Then Jiang said, "At least we won."

"Shut up."

Tian had no idea how long he and Jiang had been standing on their heads. Occasionally they would lose their balance or get tired; in which case they'd lower their legs to the ground for a few seconds, then swing them back up. That was allowed under Grandfather's rules, as long as you waited until you were almost ready to fall over, and got back into position in less than five seconds.

Eventually, Xing's bare feet pattered up into upside-down view. She bent over so that she was face to face with Tian, her head turned sideways in an attempt to be upside-down herself, black hair almost brushing the floor.

"Grandfather says you both can stop now," she said. "We have to go home."

Tian and Jiang lowered their legs with pained groans; Jiang flopped over onto his back. "I'm just going to spend the night here," he said. "I don't think I can move any farther."

"Aunt is making pork and potatoes for dinner," Xing told him.

Jiang sat up quickly, then pressed a hand to his ribcage. "Really? Ow. Maybe I can walk _that_ far…"

The thought of pork and potatoes made Tian's stomach growl, but he was glad that he and Xing weren't staying for dinner. The prospect of having to face Grandfather over the dinner table after this was horrifying. And in any case, Mother had promised to be home early enough to cook tonight; Father didn't have a late class today either.

Then his mind finally registered Xing's earlier words: _We _have_ to go home._ He turned towards the doorway to the studio and saw his father waiting there, arms folded. He'd obviously already talked to Grandfather.

Jiang followed his gaze, then clapped Tian on the back in support. "Don't worry," he said, "your dad is a lot nicer than mine." Using Tian's shoulder for balance, Jiang levered himself up and then started hobbling towards the door.

Tian climbed awkwardly to his feet, favoring his injured leg a little. The pain wasn't as sharp as it had been earlier, but he could tell that it was going to hurt for a few more days, at least. Xing gave him a worried look. "Are you alright?" she whispered, as if it were possible to keep his injuries secret from Father.

"Fine," Tian told her. "How are your hands?"

Xing showed him her hands, the heels of which had wads of gauze taped over them. "Aunt let me do it myself," she said proudly, "after she washed the cuts with perkoside. That part hurt, but I didn't cry."

"I'm sure you didn't." He smiled down at her, then took a deep breath. "Come on, let's go."

~~~~o~~~~

Father didn't say anything to Tian about the fight on the walk home. He listened attentively to Xing's tortoise story, holding her hand and laughing in all the right places and offering suggestions as to where the tortoise might have come from. Tian would have enjoyed the conversation more, even joined in himself, if it weren't for the lump of dread sitting in the pit of his stomach. Every step sent a dull wave of pain up his shin, reminding him of the earlier fight and the next punishment that awaited him.

Father had never been truly angry with Tian before; he never yelled, not even when Tian or Xing were acting up. Not that Tian ever acted up anymore, he was too old for that sort of thing. But a fight with other boys, where some of them had gotten hurt, was different from turning the television up too loud when Mother had a migraine. A fight would probably warrant harsher words and sterner action than a frown and a supper without dessert. What exactly that would be, he had no idea.

Father still didn't say anything when they got home and Mother exclaimed over Tian and Xing's injuries, except, "An accident at school. Don't worry, it's all sorted out." Then he gave her a quick kiss on the lips, and started helping with dinner. Mother gave him a suspicious look, but she didn't ask any further questions. She gave Tian a package of frozen snow peas to put on his cheek, kissed Xing's hands sympathetically, then returned to her work. Father would probably tell her after dinner, Tian guessed. Then both of his parents would be disappointed in him.

Tian normally enjoyed it when his parents cooked together, but even though it was starting to look like he wasn't going to get into trouble after all, he couldn't even bring himself to smile when Father blew a handful of flour at Mother to make her sneeze, or when Mother added chili powder to Father's bowl when he wasn't looking. Xing gave the game away by laughing so hard that she fell off her chair; Tian just felt the lump in his stomach grow bigger and knottier. Mother was worried that he might be ill when he only had one plate of dumplings, but he claimed that the pain in his leg was throwing off his appetite. She fetched him an aspirin and let him leave the table early.

He worked on his homework in his bedroom for a while. Xing had finished hers with Jiao-tu during his practice; she was watching television in the main room with Mother. Tian could hear the music through the door: one of her favorite cartoons, the sort where there were talking animals and the good guys always won. He sighed to himself; Jiang was wrong, they hadn't won the fight. Honglian was angrier than ever now. Next time he'd be back with more friends, in a place where there weren't any adults to come to the rescue.

Even though he wasn't making any progress on his homework, Tian stayed in the bedroom until it was time for Xing to go to bed. Since he couldn't work in the dark, and it was way too early for him to sleep, he shut his history book with a sigh and left the room.

"Hey sweetie," Mother said when she saw him. "Feeling better?"

He shrugged. "A little."

She patted the seat next to her on the couch. "_The Water Margin_ is about to start - want to join me? It's an old episode, but I think it's a good one."

He hesitated. Father wasn't in the room, which meant that he was probably working in his office. It would be nice to sit down and just watch television for a while, but Tian felt as if he was about to go mad without finally knowing whether or not Father was angry with him.

"Um, yeah - in a minute," he said.

Father's office wasn't really an office, but a little space squeezed in between the kitchen and the bathroom. Tian didn't know what kind of room it was supposed to be; it was too small to be a bedroom, which was why Xing shared with Tian. There was a light shining beneath the accordion door; Tian knocked on the rickety wood softly.

"Come in," Father said.

Tian took a deep breath to steady himself, then folded the door open and stepped inside. There was just enough room for him to stand behind Father's chair, against the wall. Father's desk, barely big enough for one person to sit at, took up the entire opposite wall. There were three shelves above the desk, crammed with books; Father's camera was on the top shelf.

Father turned when Tian entered and smiled at him over the top of his reading glasses. Mother always teased him about having to wear reading glasses at such a young age. "What is it, son?" he asked.

"Um," Tian began, then lost his nerve. His stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his toes, as if that was where his courage was hiding. "Did Grandfather tell you about the fight?" When he heard Father's chair turn completely around, he looked up.

"Yes," Father said, taking off his glasses and giving Tian a steady look. "Between Xing and Jiao-tu, we got most of the story."

"Then…aren't you angry with me? Why aren't I in trouble?"

"I'm not angry," Father said, and Tian could tell from his face that he really wasn't. "I am disappointed in you; starting a fight like that, hurting another boy - you should have waited for adults to get there, or tried to find another solution first."

Tian looked at his toes again. "I know," he said.

"But," Father continued, "you were trying to protect your sister, and I can't blame you for that. You just have to be smarter about things in the future, and think before you act."

Tian looked up at him, a little surprised. "Really?"

Father smiled a small smile. "Really. I'm glad that Xing has you watching out for her."

The knot in his stomach started to unravel somewhat, but Tian tried to temper his newfound optimism. "You're not going to punish me then?"

The look that Father gave him was uncannily like one of Grandfather's inscrutable gazes. "Do you think that you need to be punished?"

Tian had no idea what answer was correct, so he spoke honestly. "Yes."

"The guilt has been eating away at you all night, hasn't it," Father said seriously.

He nodded glumly, and Father's smile returned. "Then I think that you've suffered enough already tonight. Why don't you go watch your show with Mother then?"

As Tian turned to leave, confused and relieved all at once, he bumped against the telescope that was crammed into the corner of the tiny room. He caught it before it fell, but Father frowned.

"You know," Father said thoughtfully, "I've been thinking that maybe we should go up to the lake house this weekend."

"Really? But it's not summer vacation yet." They occasionally went up to the country village on weekends, but it was such a long trip that Mother didn't like to do it for anything less than a real break. With the end of school only two weeks away, it didn't make any sense to Tian for them to go now.

Father nodded. "I know, but what with everything that's been going on in the west…I heard on the news during lunch that all of South America is affected now, and probably most of North America too, though they won't know for sure until nightfall. If it keeps spreading like it has been, Xi'an's stars are supposed to disappear late Friday night."

The knot in Tian's stomach was back. He didn't want the stars to vanish; he couldn't imagine a world without them.

"I'd rather not be in the city if things get out of hand," Father continued, looking grave. Then he smiled a bit. "And anyway, if the stars are going to fall, I'd like to watch them one last time - how about you?"


	8. Brigid IV

**A/N:** Next week being Thanksgiving here in the US, I don't know if I'll get a new chapter posted. So, here is an extra long one - enjoy

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><p><em>News/Current Events/17.06.98/London, England: The Home Department has issued a public information announcement regarding the strange phenomenon currently being experienced in the Americas. While the cause of the phenomenon remains elusive, it is almost certain that Central America and the southern and eastern United States are now in fact underneath the mysterious black shroud and that come nightfall, no stars or moon will rise for these regions. Scientists are predicting that the phenomenon will reach the British Isles late this evening, arriving in London town at approximately 3:46AM local time._

_Martial law has been imposed in the United States in an attempt to keep panicked citizens from rioting, although certain areas of Los Angeles and Chicago have already experienced a severe uptick in violent crime. Johannesburg and other South African cities are also experiencing dangerous levels of unrest. _

_It is the Home Department's hope that such measures will not be necessary in the UK; for the safety of citizens, a curfew is being imposed within the city limits. With the exception of verifiable night shift workers, all citizens are required to be off the streets by ten o'clock tonight, regardless of age, class, or position. Any citizens found to be in violation of this curfew will be arrested without appeal./_

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><p>Brigid and James traveled across the city to Southall two days after her appointment with Jack Simon, to meet the rest of Dillon's crew. He wasn't calling them the Cause any longer; according to Eddie, Dillon had given up on the Cause a couple of years after the disastrous bus depot mission, when the majority of the members had been either arrested or forced into hiding. But, the signing of the Belfast Agreement had inspired him to make another go of it. Eddie didn't know for sure, but he'd heard talk that rather than acting on his own as before, Dillon was now being backed by one of the larger, more militant of the IRA splinter groups, one that had no desire to abide by the peace.<p>

Brigid didn't really care either way. She just wanted to see the job through, and make good on her deal with Simon. It would be a relief that she'd never dared hoped for to have her past finally wiped clean.

The meeting place for the crew was a nondescript townhouse on a nondescript street, a little two-story structure with a neat patch of garden in the back and tall brick walls hiding it from its neighbors. It belonged to Tim and Gwenith; Brigid knew Tim from the old days. They arrived just in time for supper, the smell of a proper Irish fry wafting out onto the street as soon as Tim opened the door.

"Bridey!" he exclaimed upon seeing her on the step. "Christ, Eddie was right - you haven't aged a day!"

Brigid laughed. "Sweet talking as always, Tim - you know it gets you nowhere, and fast." She leaned in to exchange kisses, then reached up to his shaved head. "What happened here?"

Tim gave her a rueful grin. "Grandad's curse finally caught up with me; I decided to bite the bullet and just hack it all off before it fell of its own accord." He winked. "Gwen doesn't mind."

Brigid introduced him to James, then Tim led them inside to the parlor, where a small crowd was gathered, beers in hand. It was a little surreal, seeing so many familiar faces again. Or at least, faces that had once been familiar, before long years of hard life had changed them. Dillon and Tim weren't the only ones who'd aged: Michael was stouter and more broad of shoulder than he had been before, and Brigid thought that she could see some gray peppering Kelly's blond beard. _And him barely older than me_, she thought sadly, wondering just how rough things had gotten after she'd left. Michael greeted her with a warm hug that made her feel a little ashamed at running out all those years ago, and even more ashamed at what she was about to do.

Patrick and Brent she'd met for the first time at the pub; then there was Eddie, who'd changed most of all. Tall and lean like his cousin, he was a far cry from the pudgy seven-year-old who'd tagged along after Dillon all those years ago. He sprang from his seat as soon as she entered the room and wrapped her in an enthusiastic hug, even though they'd just seen each other two weeks past. She kissed his cheek, laughing.

Introductions were made all around; then a short, chestnut-haired woman that Brigid didn't know but guessed must be Gwenith poked her head into the room and announced, "Vittles is up!"

"Where's your other lad - Dennis wasn't it?" Dillon asked Brigid as they moved to the dining room to eat.

Brigid took a seat next to James and helped herself to a large chunk of bread. It looked store-bought rather than fresh, but she wasn't about to complain. "He wanted to be here, but we needed someone to stay behind and cover the pub," she said. "Someone who knows the business. It'll look better if he's had a night or two of it on his own beforehand."

Dillon nodded in understanding. There was always a rendezvous set up for if things went bad after a mission, and always a second rendezvous in case things went worse. James and Dillon had already decided on the pub acting as the secondary meeting point; it made sense to have someone who was in the know stationed there, though Dennis hadn't been too happy about missing the main action. That, and she hadn't been able to include him in her deal with Simon; she wanted him as far removed from the game as possible.

Gwenith was an excellent cook and supper conversation was light and jovial, with plenty of jokes and laughter to go around. As there was a mix of old and new faces, Dillon kept the topics firmly on shared knowledge and experience, lest anyone feel excluded. The atmosphere reminded Brigid strongly of the days when the Cause was running strong, and it warmed her heart. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the camaraderie.

James was fitting in splendidly, Brigid was pleased to see. His experience as a barkeep had given him excellent social skills, and when he made an effort, he was almost as good at keeping things running on an even keel as Dillon was. To her vast relief, no one brought up her former relationship with Dillon. She still hadn't explained the whole extent of it to James.

"I'm glad to finally have another woman round the place," Gwenith said to Brigid. "There's only so much testosterone I can take in a day before I go stark ravin'."

Brigid was about to answer when she caught the smirk on Dillon's face across the table. "What?" she asked suspiciously.

He raised his fork to his mouth. "Nothing."

"Out with it, Fitzgerald."

Dillon shrugged innocently and chewed his food; it was Michael sitting next to her who spoke up. "Well," he said, "as far as femininity counterbalancing us lads, I'm not sure Bridey goes very far."

"Rubbish, I'm plenty feminine!" Brigid said indignantly. To prove her point, she gave his arm a sharp smack.

"Sure and you could have changed these years," Dillon conceded. "I suppose you're quite the domestic goddess now: darning socks, knittin' tea cozies, slaving over the hot stove of an evening…"

She gave him a look, and was about to give him a piece of her mind, when James said, "It's true. She's _quite_ good at shifting the takeaway from those little boxes and onto the china."

Brigid kicked him under the table. "Traitor," she said with a smile, as he gave her an apologetic kiss.

Dillon passed her an unopened beer, then raised his own. "To domesticity," he said. The others joined in the toast; Brigid opened hers and raised it as well, but only pretended to drink. In exchange for forgoing drinking and smoking completely and utterly, she'd made James promise beforehand not to mention her pregnancy to the others. No sense in making things even more complicated than they already were. There was an odd look behind Dillon's smile, as if he'd seen right through her facade but couldn't make sense of it. Uncomfortable, she averted her gaze only for it land on Kelly. There was such coldness in the blond man's eyes that it momentarily stunned her. But then the coldness vanished so quickly that she suddenly wasn't sure she'd seen it at all.

After supper, Brigid offered to help Gwenith wash up in the kitchen, to much ribbing about her skills, or lack thereof, with a scrub brush. She liked the other woman; despite all her complaints about having had no one but men for company for the past week, Gwenith was tough as nails and right at home with bawdy. And she was a good match for Tim, who Brigid had always been fond of.

Dillon and Tim came into the kitchen while Brigid was drying plates. As Tim pulled a bottle of whiskey down from atop the fridge, Dillon walked over to where Brigid was standing. His eyes held that mischievous twinkle that she'd always loved; it was a little frightening how little he'd changed. Except for James' presence, she could almost imagine that the time hadn't passed at all, and she had never left.

He didn't say anything except, "Budge over, love," and pressed up against her to reach the cabinet above her. It suddenly felt very crowded in the little room. She stepped quickly to the side while Dillon collected a handful of glasses from the cupboard. He gave her an amused look.

"Gwen, why don't you let me and Bridey finish up here," Tim said, giving Brigid and Dillon a sidelong glance. "Help Dillon take the whiskey out, then have a rest."

"Don't mind if I do," Gwenith smiled, and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. She and Dillon loaded the glasses onto a tray, which she carried out. Dillon followed behind her, gripping the neck of the bottle tightly and shooting Tim an unreadable glance.

"It's nice to see you settled and happy," Brigid said when they were alone. She finished drying the last of the plates and set to work on the frying pan, while Tim took over Gwenith's scrubbing of a pot.

He gave her a warm smile. "Likewise," he said, "though I admit it's a bit strange, seeing you with someone other than Dillon."

Brigid shrugged uncomfortably. "The past is past." She hadn't been sure how this supper would go at all; it certainly had _felt_ strange, with Dillon and James, her past and her present, in the same room at the same time. Eddie had told her that Dillon hadn't been serious with anyone in all these years; it made her feel more than a little guilty. "Is he happy, then?"

"Happy enough. Better for you being here, sure. The first thing that I thought when Dillon told me his scheme was _Christ, how in the hell are we going to pull this off without Bridey?_" Tim grinned at her. "And now here you are, come flying in at the eleventh hour just like a guardian angel. I was there when Eddie brought the news that he'd seen you; Dillon was like a man transformed. Suddenly, all that old life and spirit that we'd all thought was gone sparked up again." Strangely though, Tim's smile didn't quite seem to meet his eyes.

"What is it?" Brigid asked.

Tim looked as if he was going to pretend to not understand her question, but then changed his mind. "I'd like to say that it's no business of mine," he said, "but this is a big job coming up, and it needs to go smoothly. We can't afford to have any doubt or mistrust in the crew."

"Agreed," Brigid said, wondering where he was going with this.

Water sloshed in the pot as Tim continued scrubbing, but it didn't seem as if he was really paying attention to the task. "You're serious about your new man, then? Because I've known Dillon for a long time; he hasn't been the same since you've been gone, and one thing I'm sure of is, he wouldn't say no to picking up right where the two of you left off. If you give him any kind of encouragement and there's a misunderstanding…well, things could get ugly. I don't want things to get ugly."

"I've been with James for four years, almost as long as Dillon and I were together," Brigid said defensively. "That's hardly 'new'. And I made sure that Eddie understood that before he ever said a word to Dillon. I've been perfectly clear; if Dillon can't understand that, that's not my fault." She wasn't too worried about it though; it wasn't very likely that Dillon was still carrying a torch for her after all these years; and even if he was, he was smart enough to not do anything to rock the boat until after the job was over. And by then, though he didn't know it of course, it wouldn't matter.

Tim shrugged. "Well, it needed to be said. And I've told him that, as well. You remember what he was like after we lost John?"

"Of course," Brigid said, her heart constricting painfully. John was Dillon's older brother; he'd been hit by a stray bullet during a run-in with the police and died on the scene. Dillon's grief had been all-consuming; for weeks she'd been terrified to leave his side lest he harm himself or anyone else. After that, their missions had got more and more violent. Less about helping their people and more about Dillon seeking revenge. It had been all that she could do to keep him focused on the original purpose of the Cause.

"Well," Tim continued, "he got like that again, after you left. Only it was slower, so gradual that it took the rest of us a long time to see it. You weren't at the rendezvous by the set time. Dillon supposed you just got held up, maybe someone was on your trail and you had to keep your head down. He insisted that we wait for you. Then you missed the next date, and the next. We left messages for you at all the usual places, but there was never a response. All we knew was that my dad'd had word that you were going to lay low in Europe for the time being. It was a coupla years before Dillon finally accepted that you weren't coming back. And he just wasn't the same after that. He started getting more and more reckless; it's a miracle that he's neither in prison nor dead this day."

Brigid didn't meet his eyes, and focused on her task. She had no answer to his unspoken question. Something had broke inside of Dillon when John'd died, something that Brigid hadn't been able to fix, try as she might. The incident at the bus depot had scared her badly - she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that it hadn't been an accident after all, despite all of Dillon's reassurances. Unable to face a potentially ugly truth, she'd run, and not looked back.

"Anyway," Tim said when it was clear that she wasn't going to speak up, "Dillon's glad that you're with us again; so am I."

It seemed to Brigid that there was still something that he was leaving unsaid. Then she remembered the cold look that Kelly had given her earlier. "You and Dillon are glad," she repeated slowly. "Are you sayin' that not everyone is?"

Tim looked decidedly uncomfortable now, and for a minute Brigid thought that she might have to bring out her verbal thumbscrews to get him to talk. But at last he looked up from scrubbing the pot.

"There was talk after that last mission," he said, "that maybe it wasn't a coincidence that the police had been there waiting. That maybe they'd been tipped off. Dillon wouldn't hear a word of it, swore up and down that no one in his crew would betray us; I didn't really believe it myself." He shrugged. "But…"

Tim's meaning suddenly became clear. "They think _I_ -?" she burst out, outraged. She owed everything to the Cause; how could they think that she would betray them, betray Dillon? Then the remembrance that that was precisely why she was here _now_ hit her full force. She put a hand to her mouth, suddenly feeling so sick to her stomach that she thought she might throw up.

Tim shook his head, misunderstanding her reaction. "No one truly wanted to believe it of you," he said reassuringly, "but the way you just disappeared, with not even a word to Dillon - well, can you blame them?"

"No," Brigid said quietly, still queasy.

"It was only a few," Tim assured her, but his words were only making it worse. "And Kelly'll come round - no matter what it looked like all those years ago, you wouldn't be here now if you'd had any part in any betrayal. We all know that."

"Thanks, Tim," Brigid managed. Unwilling to continue the conversation, she wiped her hands on a dish rag and left the kitchen.

~~~~o~~~~

The others were still gathered round the dining table, where a large street map of the city was now laid out between the glasses of whiskey. Brigid resumed her seat next to James, who put his arm across the back of her chair to squeeze her shoulder. Half the table's occupants had cigarettes lit and the room was filled with a lovely, smoky haze, but James wasn't saying a word about it; he couldn't make the rules in someone else's house, and he couldn't bring up Brigid's condition as the reason, not without breaking his word to her. She tried to inhale the second-hand smoke surreptitiously; it was better than nothing.

Dillon poured out a measure of whiskey and passed it to her, holding the glass in such a way that it was impossible for their fingers not to brush. She couldn't tell whether he'd done it on purpose or not; but she took the glass and held it as if she was about to drink. For some reason, it had been easier to give up alcohol than tobacco; maybe working in the pub for so long had finally inured her to it. Across the table, she saw Eddie raise his own glass to his lips.

"Eddie Corrigan," she said in astonishment, "you are _not _old enough to drink?"

Eddie almost choked on the alcohol. "Yes?" he said, as if he wasn't sure himself.

Michael grinned at her and slapped Eddie jovially on the back, sending him into another coughing fit. "Legal, and everything. And how old were _you_ when you had your first, hey Bridey?"

Brigid ignored him, and sighed. "God, I feel feckin' old."

"Well," Dillon said, standing, "now that we've established that Bridey is officially a narky old woman - " she very pointedly raised her middle finger in his direction " - we can get started. Tim knows most of it already, we don't have to wait on him. Our target." He tapped the map with a butter knife. "One Canada Square, Canary Wharf."

Patrick, who Brigid was coming to know as a quiet, thoughtful man, frowned and said, "That's not government, is it?"

Dillon shook his head. "What's the point in hitting government these days? Business will be slowed for a day or two, but it won't change anything in the long run. No, we need to hit them where it hurts the most: the financial center of England. This building -" he tapped the map again - "is home to Morgan Stanley, the Canary Wharf Group, New York Mellon, and dozens of others. If it goes, England will be more thoroughly crippled than if they lost the whole of Parliament."

It made sense, Brigid thought. But… "What about Ireland?" she asked. "Ireland depends on trade with England - cripple the English, and we cripple everyone."

"For a time," Dillon agreed. "But with the hit comes threats of more to follow, unless our demands for independent government are met. I have assurances from the Sinn Fein - and others - that there will be Irish push-back against the Agreement after this. Manufactured proof that the English knew about the plot but did nothing about it. Suggestion that they aren't living up to their end of the agreement, like. Eventually popular opinion will turn against them, there will be another vote, and Northern Ireland will be our own free country at last. But we don't need to worry about any of that; we just need to focus on this one job."

It was true then - Dillon wasn't acting on his own, but had been contracted out by what sounded like a large, powerful group. Brigid tried to stuff down the worry that she felt. Dillon's choices were his own; if he wanted to be indebted to someone to whom it wasn't a good idea to be indebted, well, that was none of her business. It would all be over once MI-6 arrested him, anyway. Her stomach turned a little at the thought.

"So what do you have in mind?" she asked, ignoring the guilty feeling as best she could.

Dillon smiled. "It's simple. The DLR line has a station right at the base of the tower, here. We load a lorry with some explosives, park it under the station bridge, and that's it."

Next to her, James shifted uncomfortably, while Brigid stared around the table. No one else was speaking up; they didn't even look surprised. Dillon must have already spent some time working them, convincing them that they were on board with violence before they'd even heard the scheme. But how could he possibly think that she would ever be okay with such a plan?

"Are you out of your mind?" she burst out angrily. "Do you know how many people will be hurt?"

He frowned at her. "Sure, an' we need them to sit up and take notice - that's the whole point. Those little jobs we used to pull just aren't going to cut it anymore; not that they ever really did."

"God damn it, Dillon, I thought the point was to cripple the financial industry - we can do that without killing people!"

"Bridey's right," Tim interjected from the kitchen doorway. "You an' I talked about this. There's got to be a better way."

James spoke up then. "Didn't the IRA already try this exact same thing, a few years back?"

Brigid looked at him blankly. If they had, it'd been when she was still out of the country; she hadn't heard a word of it.

"Yeah," Brent laughed. "Ninety-two. Eejits parked on a double yellow line and got themselves found out before they could set the bloody thing off."

"And they had problems with the detonator," Dillon said. "The whole thing was a bust. We'll be smarter about it. We've got Brent to run interference with the police, Michael will take care of security; Tim, Gwen, and James can run diversions, and Bridey, of course, will work with Patrick on the device." He grinned at her. "You're our good luck charm, love, as always."

Brigid turned to Patrick, ignoring Dillon's comment. "You know explosives?"

He smiled, and gave her a salute. "Army bomb squad. Though I admit to being much more adept at taking them apart than putting them together - definitely glad to have you on board, lass!"

_Damn,_ Brigid thought to herself. She could easily rig the bomb to fail, but not with Patrick's eyes on it. She'd have to push Dillon in a different direction.

She shook her head. "I can't. Not when there's such a big risk of people getting hurt."

Dillon was looking at her as if she was a particularly slow and stupid schoolgirl. "We have to do it in the middle of the day; parking it under the bridge at night when the building's empty will call too much attention to it. Besides, Michael works days; we don't have any people in the night security team."

"I could swap shifts, maybe," Michael said slowly. "Though it's generally not done. Might raise a few eyebrows."

"It's too risky to draw attention to ourselves like that ahead of time," Dillon said emphatically; she got the sense that it had been a long time since anyone had seriously disagreed with him. "Casualties are unavoidable during a war, and that's what this is! We have to be prepared to accept that, just as before."

"No," Brigid said, just as emphatically. "That's exactly what you said after the bus depot - people _died_ because of a bomb that _I_ built! That's _not_ going to happen again! We never used to have to worry about casualties, because we never tried blowing people up on purpose!"

"What if we evacuate the area ahead of time?"

They all turned to James, and he continued, "Say there's a gas leak and the whole street has to be blocked off, surrounding buildings evacuated, that sort of thing. Instead of a lorry, we load the explosives in some kind of gas company maintenance van; as soon as the place is clear, it goes off."

"That would be much more complicated," Dillon mused. "Not as splashy. We'd have to nick the van, con the city planning office; the timing could get tricky." His words made him sound less than optimistic, but Brigid could see the light in his eyes. He liked it. It was exactly the sort of scheme they'd both loved to pull in the old days. She could feel her own pulse pick up in anticipation of the adrenaline rush that came with a smart job well-run, and squeezed James' knee appreciatively.

Then, Gwenith spoke up for the first time since supper. "Is it really going to matter?" she asked quietly. "After tonight, like."

"What do you mean?" Dillon said blankly.

"Because of the stars. You heard the telly this morning - South America, southern Africa, half of the United States have all gone dark. London and the rest of the UK are due to get hit later tonight, by whatever it is. So, will it matter?"

"That's right," Tim said. "Tonight's curfew might be extended, for who knows how long."

Dillon waved the concerns off. "If the curfew sticks, it'll just mean that we have to do the job during the day, like we're planning already. And it'll be even more important that we strike next week, rather than later - the more chaos and confusion, the better."

They set to work discussing the nuts and bolts of the plan. For the most part, things went smoothly; the only time disagreements arose was when it came down to assigning roles. Brent and Michael were sorted: Brent was on the Metro police force, and Michael worked security for the tower. Kelly, who had been their man inside Operation Banner in the old days, was on the army's quartermaster staff now and thus had access to all the materials that Brigid and Patrick would need for the bomb - with a little help from a black market source that Dillon knew.

"Who's driving the van, then?" Tim asked, cracking open a beer. "Have to be Bridey, Dillon, or Eddie. The rest of us will be plenty busy."

"Eddie and I'll do it," Dillon said. "Two'll be best; one to park, the other to set out the cones and make certain the area's clear."

"Absolutely not!" Brigid said, aghast at the idea. "Eddie's too young, I'll do it."

Eddie frowned at her. "What do you mean, too young? I'm nineteen! I've done jobs with Dillon before."

"Jobs like this? Eddie, if you get caught, it's prison for life!" She'd wanted to keep him well clear of the whole thing, same as Dennis. She'd never forgive herself if Eddie was arrested by MI-6. He still had his whole life ahead of him; he shouldn't be making the same mistakes that she had.

Dillon gave her a wry smile. "Sure, and it's the same risk we're all taking, isn't it? Besides, how old were you when you joined up and pulled your first job? Sixteen?"

"That's a bollicks argument, and you know it, Fitzgerald! I was a feckin' eejit at sixteen, and you're a feckin' eejit for encouragin' him! He can be on crowd control, with James. I'll drive the van."

James leaned in and spoke to her in a low voice. "I thought we agreed that you would stay out of the more dangerous work. Keep behind the scenes, and let Eddie drive. Better yet, I'll do it."

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I'm bloody helpless!" Brigid snapped. There was a stunned silence, and she realized what she'd just said. Eddie's mouth gaped open. Tim and Kelly both wore shocked expressions; Gwenith smiled politely, while Dillon's face had gone completely blank.

Michael cleared his throat. "Congratulations…" he began, but Brigid stood and pushed her chair back with a loud scrape.

"Oh, stuff it!" she said, and strode from the room in embarrassed anger.

~~~~o~~~~

Brigid let herself out through the garden door. She took a deep breath of the night air to help calm her nerves; goddamn James and his goddamn ban on cigarettes. She exhaled slowly, then wandered through the garden until she found a secluded patch around the side of the house. Even in the dark, she could tell that the garden needed some work - the hedges were all overgrown, and there was a lilac bush threatening to overtake some haphazardly-planted petunias. Brigid leaned against the wall and absently rubbed her thumb along the cross on her rosary; she still hadn't found a new feather to replace the one that she'd broken the other night. There was a lumpy brick jabbing into her back, but she didn't care enough to move.

She heard the patio door open and shut, and a pair of boots hesitate before striking out into the garden. Dillon. James knew better than to bother her when she was upset, but Dillon had never been able to just let things be. He rounded the corner and, spotting her, walked up to lean one shoulder casually against the side of the house. There was an expectant look on his face; Brigid ignored him. She wondered whether it was Tim or Gwenith who looked after the garden; she could give them some advice on trimming the lilac.

"Suppose that explains why you haven't touched a drop of whiskey all night," Dillon said at last. "Were you going to tell me?" There was only a touch of reproach in his voice.

"Wasn't any of your business."

He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, an old, familiar gesture. "Isn't it? I know you're with James now. I don't blame you for moving on - sure, it's been twelve years, we all of us have moved on. But after all that we two went through together - I still care about you, Bridey. I care what's happening in your life. Time passed doesn't mean we can't still be friends."

"I know," she admitted with a sigh, turning away to gaze into the dark garden. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you; I just…didn't know how. I know how you feel about people havin' babies; I didn't want a sermon." That wasn't the reason why she'd wanted to keep it from him, but it made for a good excuse.

Dillon cleared his throat in an uncharacteristically awkward manner. "I've got a kid now, you know."

Brigid whipped her head around to face him. "What?"

"Boy; lives in Belfast with his mother, so I don't see him much, myself being _persona non grata_ in that fair city." He gave her a mischievous grin, then his expression turned thoughtful. "She wanted to name him John, but I said no. Must be eight or nine years old by now. Christ."

"Who's the mother?"

"Jealous, are we love?" he said with a smile, and tweaked her chin playfully.

She swatted his hand away. "You aren't answering the question."

"Katie Connell."

Brigid remembered Katie; a girl about her own age who'd joined the Cause shortly before that last mission. She'd started making eyes at Dillon from the very first; Brigid had had to threaten her with a cake fork in the ladies' room of a restaurant once, though Dillon had remained oblivious. It was unreasonable of her to expect that he remain celibate after she'd left; she certainly hadn't. But the idea of him having a child with another woman was hard to stomach. Especially a woman that she'd known.

"Well, you always did have a thing for gingers," she said grudgingly.

Dillon laughed. "No, I always said that _you_ should've been born a ginger," he said, reaching over and running his fingers through her pale hair; her traitor heart beat faster at his touch. "That's hardly the same thing."

"Whatever happened to it being 'the most grievous of sins to introduce an innocent life into a world of tyranny'?"

He shrugged, taking his hand back. "She kept it from me until it was too late to do anything about it; she didn't understand, not like you. At least, I thought you understood."

Brigid bristled at the accusation in his voice. "I did understand," she said. "I still do. But times change. People change. I didn't want a kid then; I do now." Except, she _had_ wanted one then. It would have been a complete disaster, her and Dillon as parents at that age and in that life. She could see that now, and didn't regret her decision for one minute. But it had still hurt, at the time. She hadn't been brave enough to tell him then, and there was no point in telling him now.

"Me, a father, and you a mother," Dillon said with a grin. "What in the bloody hell is the world comin' to, hey?"

Brigid didn't answer; she couldn't think of a thing to say. They stood in silence for some time, each contemplating their own private thoughts. Dillon took out a pack of cigarettes and started to remove one; then looking sideways at her, he closed the pack again with a cardboard snap and shoved it back into his pocket.

Eventually, he said quietly, "Why didn't you come back?"

She'd been dreading that question, dreading it for twelve years. It took her a moment to organize her thoughts, though she'd gladly have taken another twelve years. "After the safe house was raided and we split up, I got wind that MI-6 was on my trail," she lied. "Europe seemed like the safest place to lay low for a while, but it was a long time before I felt sure of getting back. Only then I didn't have funds, so I worked a little longer, traveled a little farther; time flew before I knew it."

"Time flew? Time stopped, for me. Not knowing where you were, if you were even still alive - it was very nearly the death of me."

The obvious pain in his voice twisted her heart into an impossible knot, and she remembered Tim's earlier words about Dillon's state of mind after her disappearance. The last thing that she'd wanted to do was hurt him. Which was why she'd run in the night instead of walking out, like a coward.

"I left word with Charlie," she said softly, turning her head away.

"One note, then nothing. I waited two years. Christ, Bridey, I'd've waited ten years, twenty, for you." He took a step closer to cup her cheek and turn her face back towards his; his brilliant green eyes were almost black in the night. "If you had no intention of coming back, why didn't you at least say?"

She could feel her lower lip quivering, and cursed herself for it. "I was afraid that you would hate me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Never," was all he said.

He would hate her, she knew, if he ever found out that she was working for the English now. Working to betray him in order to save herself. His hand was still on her cheek…she ought to brush it away, but she couldn't bring herself to move. Such large hands. He'd always cupped her cheek like that, when she was upset and needed comforting. It made her feel like a teenager again, young and so optimistic for the future despite a lifetime of letdowns. He'd always had that effect on her.

Gently, he brushed a strand of hair off of her face, then let his fingers trail down her neck, to rest on top of the jasmine blossom tattooed over her heart. She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a shudder at his touch. He noticed, and slid his fingers further down, round beneath her breast til he reached the fifth blossom hidden beneath her shirt; the last that she'd gotten before she'd left.

"Do you really have seventeen now?" he asked, voice heavy. She could smell the whiskey on his breath.

Her pulse quickened, and she lifted her hand to his wrist, to push him away. But instead of doing what she ought, she laid her hand over his and guided it down her body in a sinuous curve down her ribs, along the contour of her waist, finally coming to a rest on the inner ridge of her hipbone, prominent beneath her black leggings.

"Sixteen," she said. "Just here. I've plans to get the seventeenth in a couple of weeks." Except she was going to cancel the appointment, because she'd promised James that she would.

Dillon leaned his forehead against hers. "And where's that one going, then?" He slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt and tucked a finger inside her waistband. He made a circular motion on her skin, as if tracing the outline of a five-pointed flower blossom. "Here?"

"Mm-mm," she said, unconsciously pressing her hips slightly forward to meet his hand. "I was thinking of starting a new branch. Otherwise, it might get a bit too…disrespectful."

His lips briefly brushed hers, the slightest of touches. "Disrespectful? We wouldn't want that, would we now."

She struggled to keep from kissing him, and might have managed it if he hadn't continued speaking.

"D'you know why I didn't let Katie name the lad John?"

"Why?" Brigid asked, her voice weak and breathy.

He placed a hand on the side of her face, his other hand moving yet further down. "I was always saving the name for the son I'd have with you."

Her lips parted with a little whimper, and his mouth was suddenly on hers, warm and needy. She kissed him back, softly, savoring every second; he tasted like whiskey and cigarettes. The scratch of the stubble on his cheek against her skin was so familiar, and so maddening. He was kissing her harder now, mouth sucking at her lower lip. Her arms were around him, hands reaching up and gripping his hair, he was pressing her back against the bricks. The feel of his body against hers was weighty and reassuring, his hands easily finding the exact places where she loved to be touched, fingers working expertly. She deepened the kiss, and he made a hungry sound in the back of his throat.

She felt time slipping backwards, the years blowing away as if they were a house of cards in a storm. Back to when the only things that mattered were Dillon and the next job, and mundane concerns like where the rent was coming from was something that only other people cared about. Back to when the police would be searching the streets of Belfast for them, and they'd be holed up in an empty flat with nothing to do but make love until they were too exhausted to do naught but sleep; then sleep, to wake up and make love some more.

The slam of the door being flung open jolted Brigid back to the present. She broke off the kiss, gasping in panic as merry voices spilled out into the garden, but Dillon's hand remained where it was.

"Stop," she whispered, then bit her lip to keep from moaning aloud as his mouth moved to the shell of her ear. James could walk around the corner at any second, and then Tim's fear of things turning ugly would be all too real. Dillon was too self-confident to ever feel jealous, but even the most innocent of glances could set James off.

"I said _stop_," she hissed, and shoved Dillon hard. He stumbled back, surprised.

She slipped out from between him and the wall before he could react, already missing the warmth of his hands and hating herself for it. She'd never cheated on anyone before; she would lie, yes, and steal, certainly - but not cheat. She'd been so sure that she was over Dillon. After twelve goddamn years…it scared her more than a little how easily she'd given in.

Well, in a week's time it wouldn't matter. She just had to see this job through; then she and James would be in the clear, and finally be able to start a real life together. A life without their pasts hanging over their heads like the blade of a guillotine.

…but _was_ it cheating, if it was Dillon?

It didn't matter. One more week.

Her chest was heaving; she tried her best to slow her breathing, and rounded the corner of the house. She couldn't tell if Dillon was behind her or not, and prayed that whatever else, he'd keep that kiss to himself.

The others were gathered in the center of the garden, beers and whiskey glasses in hand. Brigid spotted James and joined him, leaning her head on his shoulder to show that there were no hard feelings from their earlier argument. He wrapped an arm possessively around her waist, and she pressed in closer.

"What's going on?" she asked, suddenly wishing to be back at home, in their flat above the pub. But because of the curfew, they would be spending the night - what was left of it - here.

"We're waiting for the stars to fall, of course. Telly said 3:46 AM, remember?"

Brigid turned her face to the night sky. The waning moon had risen a fair way above the southeastern horizon, and a smattering of stars could still be seen despite the city lights. She'd known some of the constellations, once; her grandmother had taught them to her. But it had been so long ago, the only one that she could remember was Ursa Major. She tried to find it now, but she wasn't even sure where to start looking.

Dillon joined the group, hands in his pockets and smiling easily. He threw an arm around his cousin's shoulders and said, "Turn off the porch light, Gwen; help us see a bit better."

Gwenith turned off not only the patio light, but the other lights in the house as well. All along the street, Brigid saw, homes whose occupants were still up were switching off their lights, people gathering out on the sidewalk or in their gardens. Brent and Tim's bantering died down, and the others quieted as well. The city held its breath.

"Look!" Eddie exclaimed. They all followed his extended finger.

At first, Brigid couldn't tell what he was pointing at. But as she watched, a particularly bright star in the southern sky suddenly winked out of sight. She blinked, wondering if it was just a trick of the eyes; then another winked out, a little to the northeast of the first. They were _all_ disappearing, she could see now, as a blanket darker than the night itself rolled slowly and inexorably eastwards across the sky. Bit by bit, the blackness swallowed even the moon, until not even the faintest sliver was left.

She was viscerally reminded of her collapse the other night and that weird vision of the stars changing and the moon being gone. James rubbed her back as she shivered a little.

"What happens now?" Eddie asked in a worried tone.

Despite the darkness, Dillon's eyes were bright. "The world changes."


	9. Tian V

_/CIA Directorate of Science and Technology, NOAA Office of Satellite Communications, NASA joint investigative force, Internal Memo RE: South American anomaly, 19.06.98: First communications from the ground team report discovery of anomaly__'s terrestrial locus. Anomaly appears to an area roughly spherical in shape with a diameter of 10 km, centered over a point at 17.36.42 S, 49.17.29 W, although this point seems to shift occasionally. _

_The region is emitting high levels of synchrotron radiation, a form of radiation that is produced when charged particles are accelerated radially through a magnetic field. Synchrotron radiation has been observed emitting from numerous astronomical objects, including our Sun, but it has never before been detected at the level of the Earth's surface. The cause of these emissions remains unknown._

_Observations from the periphery include unusual bending of the sunlight to produce vibrant and vivid colors and shapes within the area, as well as what appears to be stochastic suspension of the laws of physics. CIA DST agent reports seeing stones lift from the ground with no visible cause or means of support, and rain that falls but only occasionally strikes the ground. The Brazilian report to headquarters observes that looking upon the anomaly is like "gazing through the gates of Heaven". _

_No animal life, including insects, was observed within the region, although atmospheric readings are normal. The team will advance into the anomalous region itself at 0500 hours local time tomorrow, for further observation and measurements./_

* * *

><p>The trip up to Wangshun Mountain was long. They had to take four buses to get across the city, then once they reached the highway, a fifth bus took them up the winding road into the mountains, chugging along placidly and coughing smoke every few miles. Because the trip took so much time and Father wanted to get there before nightfall on Friday, Tian and Xing had been allowed to miss school that day for the drive. At first, Xing was torn between missing one of her dance classes and wanting to go up to the lake. But when Tian promised to help her catch lightning bugs, she stopped moping.<p>

They'd had a little bit of trouble getting onto the bus headed out of Xi'an. In anticipation of the stars disappearing, the whole province - and the country too, Tian thought, but he wasn't sure - had imposed a curfew in the cities at sundown, and travel restrictions during the day. A lot of people were trying to leave the city, even though the government had issued statements that it was safe. Father had to show the military men at the bus station papers that proved that he owned property in Zhangjiaping, and then they were allowed to leave.

Mother had asked the rest of the family if they wanted to come too, but Jiao-tu had come down with a fever and Aunt didn't think she should be out in the night air. And Grandfather wasn't worried about civil unrest or falling stars. Tian had never seen Grandfather worried about anything.

Tian's stomach was already growling by the time they stepped off the final bus in the main road of Zhangjiaping, the little village that was closest to the house by the lake; lunch had been a whole two hours ago.

"Are you going to make it until dinner?" Mother said laughing, as Father passed her the telescope bag so that he could pull their single suitcase down from the top of the bus.

"I think so," Tian said, though in reality fifteen minutes was starting to feel like fifteen hours. He bounced lightly on his feet, glad to be moving again after sitting squeezed onto a bus bench for so long, and gazed around at the shops and houses clustered around the narrow highway road, the only road in fact. There wasn't any room for them to spread out in any case, hugging the side of the mountain as they were.

Tian liked Zhangjiaping. The buildings were old and crumbly, but the whitewash was fresh and every holiday the residents hung bright red lanterns and decorations in their windows and from their eaves. Power lines crisscrossed the highway, and here and there one of the century-old houses sported a big modern satellite dish. Everyone knew each other, not like in Xi'an, where you were lucky to run into a person who wasn't a complete stranger if you ventured outside of your own neighborhood. Even though the Li family only visited a few times a year, the village's residents always greeted them like they were coming home.

"Look, there's Mr. Shang!"

Tian caught Xing's hand to keep her from wandering out into the middle of the street. There wasn't any traffic, but you never knew. The local grocer heard Xing's exclamation and looked up from the store's single fruit stand; he gave the Li family a friendly wave from across the way. Tian and Xing waved back.

"Up early this year, aren't you?" Mr. Shang called. "Want a lift?"

Mother hefted the telescope onto her shoulder. "That would be wonderful," she called back. "Thank you!"

Before heading up to the house, Mother and Xing bought some groceries, and Tian helped Father buy some live bait; if they were lucky, they'd have fish for every meal this weekend. Then they piled into Mr. Shang's flatbed truck - Mother, Tian, and Xing the back with some crates of cabbages, Father up front with Mr. Shang. The road up to the house wasn't long - only about three miles - but it was steep, and much more fun to drive than to walk. Plus, the faster they arrived, the sooner Tian could eat.

Xing lay on her stomach over the tailgate to watch the pavement rush by, Mother's hand on her ankle to keep her from falling out, while Tian leaned against the wooden slats of the truck's side. The fresh breeze ruffled his hair pleasantly. Xing giggled at the jolt when the truck turned off of the paved road and onto a rough dirt track, careless as usual about getting her white sun dress dirty. She loved riding in trucks.

The track curved around a ridge, offering a brief view of craggy granite peaks in the distance.

"Did Grandfather really climb to the top of Wangshun Mountain in the middle of a lightning storm?" Tian asked.

Mother looked over her shoulder at the mountain peak. "Oh, I don't know about a lightning storm; I don't doubt that he did climb it at some point, though. You've seen the photos of him and Grandmother on Mount Hua, haven't you? They used to go climbing and hiking all the time when Hong and I were little."

"But he did battle the Monkey King for the secrets of wushu, right?" Xing asked.

Tian rolled his eyes. "That's just one of his stories; you're too gullible."

"I like that story," Xing said, pouting a little as she turned back to the road. Tian felt a little guilty for making fun of her; it used to be one of his favorite stories, too. Well, it still was, even if he didn't believe all of it anymore.

The truck turned into the drive; if Tian hadn't already known that there was a little house tucked into the scrub he would have missed it completely. He jumped up before the truck had even stopped moving and leapt out. His shin gave a flash of pain when he landed, but he let the momentum roll him backwards and back onto his feet, springing up lightly.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do that!" Mother scolded as the truck came to a stop in front of the house. "You'll hurt yourself!"

"I'm fine," Tian assured her, while Xing said, "Can I try?"

"Absolutely not." Mother handed Tian down the suitcase as Father thanked Mr. Shang and came around the back of the truck. Tian took the telescope next so that Mother could climb down.

Father held out his arms, and Xing jumped into them. "Oof!" he said as he caught her and set her on her feet. "When did you get so heavy?"

"Yesterday," Xing said brightly. "Look! The seeds I planted at the Spring Festival are growing!"

Tian trotted with her to the clay pot by the door. Sure enough, several bright green shoots were poking their way out of the soil. "I bet they'll be blooming when we come up here for the summer. Come on," he said, retrieving the key from underneath the pot, "let's go find some food."

Dust motes sparkled in the light streaming in through unshuttered windows when Tian opened the door. The house was a bit bigger than their apartment in the city, but still small. It had only two rooms: a living area with a tiny kitchen and wood stove tucked into one corner, and a bedroom that had just enough space for a double bed; Tian and Xing usually shared the sofa bed in the living room. There was electricity, but no plumbing - an outhouse and a bathhouse with a well pump were out back. Pumping water for washing had been Tian's job ever since he'd grown tall enough to get leverage on the handle.

The old wooden floorboards creaked pleasantly underfoot as Tian went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards for something to snack on. Father took the telescope and suitcase into the bedroom while Mother brought the groceries into the kitchen. She gently shooed Tian out of the way, then handed him a sleeve of crackers which he tore open hungrily.

"There's still about two hours left of daylight," Father called from the other room. "Anyone up for some fishing?"

"I'll go get the poles!" Tian said around a mouthful of crackers, and darted out to the bathhouse where the fishing gear was stored.

~~~~o~~~~

After a dinner of fried fish, Mother suggested that they get out the mahjong set. It was a tradition to play mahjong on New Year's Eve. In a way, Tian supposed, tonight was like New Year's Eve: everything would be new and different tomorrow if the stars really did vanish. The thought initially settled over him like a gloomy cloud. It didn't help that Xing had been moping all evening. She'd lost her snake charm bracelet while playing in the water at the edge of the lake, and several minutes of frantic searching in the last light of the day hadn't turned it up.

Once they got playing, however, both children's spirits lifted.

"Are you sure you want to discard that one?" Mother asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tian hesitated, and looked again at the tile in his hand. He looked at the lack of tiles in front of Mother's place.

"Don't listen to her," Father said. "She's just trying to make you nervous." Father had a couple of sets laid out on the table already. He was close to winning - but then again, he always started out strong only to get defeated by another player. Xing was still learning the rules; her current strategy was to choose the suit that she liked best and collect only those pieces. Tonight, that was the bamboo pattern. Mother was the one to watch out for. When both she and Uncle played, the game became downright cutthroat.

She had that piratical gleam in her eye now. _She's trying to bluff me_, Tian decided, and placed down the tile.

Mother immediately snatched it up. "Ha!" she said, laying out her entire hand. "I win!"

Tian and Father both groaned in defeat, while Xing clapped.

"That's three to me! Last round - your turn to deal, Xinkun."

Everyone turned their tiles over and moved them into the middle of the table, the familiar clack-clack-clack sounds filling the small house. Once they were mixed, Father began stacking the tiles.

"Did Papa really grow up here?" Xing asked with a sleepy yawn, looking up at the row of faded, framed pictures on the wall behind Father's head.

The faces of his other grandparents were as familiar to Tian as those of his living family, but only because he'd grown up seeing these photos on their summer visits. He had the barest memory of Father's mother kissing his cheek and telling him how much he looked like his father when he was little, but that was it. She had died before Xing was born, her husband even earlier. But even though he hadn't known them, Tian liked seeing the pictures, forever smiling and happy. He could easily see Father growing up here.

Mother nodded. "Yep. He lived here until he left for college."

"Where he met you?"

"That's right." Mother grinned across the table at Father, who smiled back.

"She sat down across from me because it was the only open seat in the library, stole my textbook, and told me that economics was a subject for old men."

Like she always did when Father told the story, Mother reached over and plucked Father's reading glasses from the top of his head, perching them on the bridge of her nose. "I didn't sit there because it was the only seat," she said. "You were just too cute in your glasses and country clothes to leave alone. Definitely too cute for economics."

"But I still study economics - so you don't think I'm cute anymore?" Father said in a tone of feigned hurt.

Mother kissed him. "You're the exception to that rule," she said, and Xing giggled. "Anyway, I knew you worth keeping around after our race."

"Race?" Tian hadn't heard this story before.

"Your mother asked me to walk her home from the library; when we passed the college's track, she dared me to race her. If I won, I would be allowed to take her on a date."

Mother picked up the story, turning over her tiles to peak at the symbols. "I ran as hard as I could; I wanted him to win, but I didn't want to make it easy. But before I was halfway around the track, I realized that he wasn't even running. He was just sitting at the starting line. When I finished the loop, I asked him what he thought he was doing - didn't he _want_ to take me out? He said that he knew he would never be able to catch me; so he would wait for me instead."

"Forever," Father said, leaning over to kiss her. Tian wished that they wouldn't do that in public so often.

Xing went to bed early after the game; she was still frustrated by the loss of her bracelet, and Mother insisted that she get some sleep if she wanted to go stargazing later. Tian was too restless to sleep. He was used to staying up all night watching the stars, but for some reason, tonight he felt that if he closed his eyes for even five minutes, the stars would vanish and he would have missed his last chance at seeing them.

Once the game was put away, Father went down to the lake to get the telescope set up. Since Xing had already gone to bed, Tian stayed to help Mother clean up the dishes from dinner. When at last she pronounced the kitchen clean, he headed out too.

"Be careful in the dark!" Mother called after him.

"I will!"

The night grew chilly quickly once the sun went down, but Tian didn't mind it; he preferred the cool, brisk air to the sweltering heat that they had to suffer by day. The moon hadn't risen yet, but there were so many brilliant stars that he had no trouble picking his way down the trail to the shore. Father was a shadowy silhouette adjusting the eyepiece of the telescope, which he had set up on a flat stretch of sand at the water's edge, the breeze-driven waves lapping gently at the sand.

"Mom sent some apples," Tian said. Father jumped at the sound of his voice.

"I don't know how you can always move so quietly in the dark," Father said, and Tian grinned.

It wasn't just talent; he practiced. The nighttime forest was shadowed and full of spooky and mysterious sounds. It had frightened him when he was younger; but Grandfather had told him once that a good martial artist was one with his environment. After that, Tian had begun spending time out in the dark woods until he learned how to see just as well with his ears as with his eyes. The sound of hungry, stalking wolves turned out to be a just rabbit venturing out of its burrow; the murmuring of restless, vengeful ghosts was nothing but the breeze in the leaves. Once he'd accustomed himself to the normal forest sounds, he lost his fear of it, and worked hard to travel through it as silently as possible so as not to disturb the other denizens of the woods.

Tian passed Father the bag of apples, then bent to look through the eyepiece. "What are we looking at?"

There was a soft slicing sound, which Tian knew to be Father peeling the skin from an apple with his wide-bladed hunting knife. He could do it even in the dark, peeling off the entire skin in one long curl, using that knife.

"What does it look like?" Father asked.

"Um…" Tian pulled his head up and glanced at the sky above them. The telescope was pointed eastwards, where Scorpius had just risen above the tree tops. Antares was shining brightly. He looked back into the eyepiece and studied the pattern of the cluster of stars in its focus. "Butterfly cluster, I think."

"Good job," Father said. "M6. When you're finished with it, see if you can find M7, the Ptolemy cluster."

"Do you have the book?"

Father passed him a little pocket-sized book, a list of all the Messier catalog objects and their locations. They'd found most of the summer sky Messier objects last year, the ones that could be seen on Father's telescope at least, but Tian loved looking at them just the same. He could stare at a single galaxy for a year straight and never get tired of it.

He found the flashlight with the red filter and switched it on so that he could read the book without damaging his night vision. The Ptolemy cluster was easy to find, just a bit lower than M6 and near the tail of Scorpius. He didn't need Father's help to focus on the group of stars. They twinkled in the eyepiece, bright blue and white with a bit of yellow.

While Father studied the cluster, Tian fished an apple out of the bag and perched on an old log that had been there for as long as he could remember. "Can I borrow your knife?" he asked.

Father didn't look up from the telescope. "Remind me why there's a bandage on your finger."

"I just want to practice peeling…"

"In the dark? Your mother will kill me if I let you try; wait until tomorrow when it's daylight. It'll be easier to find your severed fingers then."

Tian huffed, and Father laughed. "Here," he said, and passed Tian the knife handle-first. "Just cut it though, don't try and peel it."

Tian took the knife gingerly. Father's grandfather had made the wooden handle, and had carved it with characters to bring luck while fishing. Not only was Tian worried about cutting himself, but the knife carried such a weight of family antiquity that he was afraid of somehow damaging it. But he managed to cut the apple into quarters with no harm done, either to himself or to the knife.

"What time are the stars supposed to disappear?" he asked, crunching into one of the apple slices.

"A little after midnight. Moonrise isn't until two-thirty; we probably won't see it at all tonight."

"Oh." Tian stared up at the wheeling, diamond-studded sky, so vast and empty, yet full to bursting with light at the same time. "Do you think it'll really happen?"

Father looked up from the telescope and regarded the sky thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said at last. "It seems impossible to believe, certainly hard to imagine - but most of the rest of the world has seen it happen by now."

Tian had seen photos and recordings on the news of a black shadow taking over the sky. It looked fake, like something out of movie. "Does that mean we won't be able to see Almach this fall?" Almach was a multiple star system east of the Andromeda galaxy. It was too far away to see with their low-powered scope, but Father had been saving up for a Barlow lens, which would increase the magnification. He'd been planning on buying one after school started up again, and Tian was looking forward to it. Now, it sounded like they'd never have a chance to see Almach. Or to see Andromeda, one of Tian's favorite galaxies, again.

"I don't know - we'll have to wait and see." Father was smiling in the dim light, but Tian thought that he looked a little sad.

The night wore on and they methodically went through the Messier catalog, taking silent turns at the telescope. Tian found his thoughts drifting back to Na. She'd promised to go stargazing with him some time; but if the stars disappeared, then what?

"Hey Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Tian stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked out across the dark lake, twinkling dimly in the starlight. "What will you miss the most about the stars?"

Father made a notation in the book. "Hm," he said. "Well, I have a lot of memories of going stargazing with your mother; every time I look up at the stars, it brings back those memories. But, I won't lose my memories if the stars vanish, and it won't make me love her any less. I guess what I'll miss most is making new memories about them with the people I love."

Tian wasn't sure that made much sense. How could you miss something that you didn't have yet? "How did you know you were in love with Mom?" he asked.

Father smiled at him over his reading glasses, his face lit by the red light of the flashlight. "I heard that you and Jiang have a couple of admirers visiting you at wushu practice…"

"No, it's not that!" Tian rubbed the back of his head. "Anyway, Jiang invited them, not me. I was just wondering. Never mind."

"Sorry, sorry," Father chuckled. "I won't tease you about it." He paused thoughtfully. "I knew I liked her from the first time I met her."

"I know," Tian said. "She teased you all the time, but you didn't mind because you liked hearing her laugh. Is that love?"

"Probably not, on its own. We'd been dating for a little less than a year when my father passed away unexpectedly; An offered to come home with me for the funeral. I spread his ashes here in the lake at sunset, then sat down on that log and watched the stars come out. An sat next to me and didn't say a word, just held my hand all night. I think that's when I knew that I loved her."

Tian didn't know what to say, so he stayed quiet and thought about it. That didn't really sound like love to him either; just sitting around not talking.

Presently they heard the sounds of Mother and Xing coming down the trail, Mother lighting their way with a flashlight. Xing had a blanket bundled up in her arms.

"Almost time?" Father asked.

Mother nodded. "Five til midnight. Have we missed anything?"

"No," Tian said.

Xing settled down against the log and wrapped the blanket around herself, yawning widely. Father and Mother joined her, and Mother passed around a thermos of tea.

But Tian didn't want to leave the telescope yet. He looked back down at the book. M80; it should be due south now. He located the cluster, but only glanced at it briefly before moving on. Jupiter. Low on the western horizon. He found the bright planet easily with his eyes alone first, then focused the telescope on it. Its colorful bands were clearly visible; and was that a moon, just coming around from behind it? He fiddled with the focus a bit more. There, that was definitely one moon; and maybe there was another…

He blinked, and squinted harder into the eyepiece. There was nothing there: the moon, the planet, the stars in the distance - he couldn't see them. It was like someone had put their hand over the lens. He raised his head and peered at the horizon.

"It's gone," he said softly.

"What's gone?" Father asked.

"Jupiter." Maybe it had just dipped down below the line of tree tops, Tian thought; but in his gut he knew that that wasn't what was happening. He stared at the sky with wide eyes. It wasn't just Jupiter that had vanished; all the stars along the horizon were gone. As he watched, inky fingers stretched slowly across the sky, blotting out the stars as they went. He tried to tell himself that it was just a giant cloud - but it was nothing like a cloud. It was as if someone had spilled a bucket of black paint onto the globe and it was oozing over the dome of the earth.

He stood and watched, fascinated and horrified at the same time.

"Sweetie, come sit down with us," Mother called to him. Tian took a few steps backwards, unwilling to take his eyes from the sky. Mother caught his hand and guided him down next to Xing. Tian pressed close against his sister, glad for once of her warmth. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he finally tore his gaze away from the sky to look at her. She was asleep.

"Xing," he whispered, as if there was something in the night that might hear. "Xing, wake up - you're missing it!" He shook her shoulder, and for one frightening moment he thought that she wasn't going to wake at all. But then her eyes opened and she blinked tiredly.

"What is it, Brother?"

"The stars - look."

Xing tilted her face up to the clashing mosaic of star-strewn sky and blackest void. "Oh," she breathed. "It's pretty."

They stayed there for another two hours, watching the stars disappear into emptiness, one by one. At last the blackness crept all the way over the eastern horizon. There was an eerie silence, as if all sound as well as color had been sucked from the world. It was so dark now that Tian could scarcely see the silhouettes of his family around him, and he jumped when he heard Father's quiet voice.

"Come on. Let's go home."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** revised 12-20-14


	10. Misaki I

**A/N:** There is an 11-hour time difference between Brazil and Japan. So 1am in Brazil is 12 noon in Japan. Also, huge shout out to **SomebodyLost**, who made the fantastic new cover art for this story!

* * *

><p><em>20.06.98. 103km SW of Goiania, Brazil. Report: Sunrise at 0645 hours local time. Synchrotron radiation emissions at edge of anomaly 0.98% higher than previous reading at 0600 hours. 0700 hours, Alpha-1 unit entered anomaly; Beta-5 unit remained in base camp just outside perimeter. Satcom is nonfunctional, however radio signal is clear. Alpha-1 unit to report every five hours on the hour or as needed./_

* * *

><p>Kirihara Misaki tapped her pen against her wrist absently. The answer to the problem was staring her in the face, but her brain just couldn't get a grip on it. Maybe she was looking at it from the wrong angle. Her brow furrowed. The key was in the type of car involved, she was sure. <em>Mifune was driving west on Gaien Higashi Dori at eighty kilometers per hour<em>_…_

Another loud chorus of honks shattered her concentration, and she sighed in frustration. Turning from her desk, she looked out her window and down onto the busy street. It was a solid gridlock, and had been all morning after the announcement that the strange atmospheric shadow would reach Tokyo at noon. Despite government orders to stay where they were, and despite the fact that nearly the entire world had already survived the loss of the stars with no negative effects whatsoever, thousands were still trying to flee the city.

It was stupid. Japan was an island, and all air traffic had been grounded today. And anyway, there was nowhere to go that wasn't already beneath the mysterious shadow.

She returned to her problem. Did it matter whether the car was a manual or automatic? She didn't have that information. Her pen resumed tapping against her wrist as she thought. Distance. Where was Mifune trying to get to? If -

A sudden knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see her father poke his head into her room.

"Misaki, I've got to go into the office - emergency meeting," he said as he finished tying his necktie. "Call me if there's any trouble - well, not that there should be any trouble, everything should be fine - but don't go outside today, just in case. Hopefully I'll see you for dinner tonight. If not, there should still be some frozen meals left, eat without me."

"Alright. Bye," Misaki said, but her father had already left the room. She heard the front door open and shut, and frowned to herself. Emergency meetings at the Organized Crime Department were nothing unusual; and in the past week, there had been deadly riots in the United States and a few other countries, where religious extremists were proclaiming the vanishing stars to be a sign of the end of the world. No doubt the mass panic in Tokyo was causing problems that Chief Kirihara would be needed to deal with. But she'd never seen him looking so harried before.

She pushed her glasses up higher on her nose, and returned to her problem. Or tried to. She sighed; the police should have closed off the streets today, or at least made it illegal to use car horns in traffic. Where was she? That's right, Mifune -

Her cell phone rang, interrupting her thoughts once again. Misaki reached for it blindly, still focused on the papers in front of her, and flipped it open.

"Kirihara."

"Misaki, do you have to answer the phone like that? You sound so impersonal."

"Oh, sorry Kanami," Misaki said. "I didn't look at the caller ID."

"Well, who else is calling you on a Sunday morning? Anyway," her friend continued, "do you want to come over? I've got Miko today, and we're getting bored."

Misaki suppressed a sigh. She'd been too busy to spend much time with Kanami lately, but helping her friend babysit her neighbors' bratty little kid wasn't exactly her idea of a fun Sunday morning. "I don't know, I've got a ton of work to get done today."

"Come on, you can do that later; it'll take you an hour tops."

Misaki doubted that; she'd been working at it since six in the morning and hadn't made any progress at all. "My dad doesn't want me to leave the apartment; he doesn't think it's safe."

"You'll still be in the building," Kanami pointed out. She could rationalize anything. "It won't be any more dangerous in my apartment than in yours."

"Well…"

A little boy's voice in the background said, "She's just afraid I'll beat her at Super Mario Kart again."

"Was that Miko? Did he just -" She tried to tamp down a surge of indignant irritation. "I am not - tell that kid to get ready to have his butt kicked!" Little brat. He'd only beaten her once, and she'd been distracted at the time. It didn't count.

Misaki snapped her phone shut, then straightened the mess of notebook papers on her desk and closed her textbook. It looked like her calculus homework was going to have to wait until tomorrow.

* * *

><p><em>1200 HOURS<em>

_Beta-5 this is Alpha-1 come in over._

_Copy Alpha-1. Report._

_We__'ve advanced one click at a heading of 270 degrees with 180 degree sweeps. Breaking for lunch. No animal life to be seen anywhere not even insects._

_All dead?_

_Negative. No dead. No living. The forest is empty._

_The vegetation?_

_Thriving. Beta-5 it__'s strange. Plants are larger than outside the anomaly. Colors are more vibrant the sunlight is brighter. Almost unnatural._

_Atmospheric readings?_

_All normal. Synchrotron radiation readings have increased by 50% relative to baseline readings at 0700. That__'s 50% increase. Any change outside?_

_Copy 50%. No change in our measurements._

_Copy. Techs have collected their samples. We move out again at 1230. Over._

_Roger. Next check in at 1700 hours._

_1700 hours copy. Over and out._

* * *

><p>Misaki took the corner on two wheels, mentally urging the little go-kart to speed up. Miko's kart was right on her tail; the boy was leaning forward, eyes fixed on the screen. He whipped his controller to the right as if that would somehow translate to the game, but his kart skidded out of control and right off the edge of the floating track. Misaki sped across the finish line.<p>

"Ha!" She pumped her fist into the air.

Miko dropped his controller despondently. "Aw, man. You cheat."

"What? How do I cheat?" The kid was such a sore loser.

"You never skid around the corners."

Misaki sighed. "That's because I pick the drivers that corner well," she explained, again. "Sometimes it pays to trade speed for precision."

"Bowser's faster, he should win every time," Miko huffed.

She was about to tell him why he was wrong when Kanami's foot poked her in the back. "Miko, why don't you do some time trials, practice the courses some more," Kanami suggested. "Misaki and I will get lunch ready."

Misaki passed her controller over to Miko, who stuck his tongue out at her; she stuck her tongue out back.

"You should go easy on the kid," Kanami said once they were in the kitchen. "He's only seven. Let him win once or twice."

Misaki crossed her arms. "What? So he can learn to expect to win without having to work for it?"

Kanami just snorted. "Turn on the rice cooker, will you?"

The two girls set about making donburri bowls for lunch. Misaki was hopeless at any kind of cooking beyond boiling water, so Kanami did most of the work.

"So your dad really thinks that something's going to happen today?" Kanami asked.

Misaki shrugged. "I think he's just worried about riots. Even in the most well-organized cities, as soon as people lose their faith in authority, they lose their respect for law and order. Something as huge as the stars disappearing - I'm surprised things haven't already gotten out of hand."

"You sound like a cop already," Kanami said with a smile. "You sure you still want to join the police, if things do end up getting worse?"

"Of course! That'll just mean that I'm needed more." Misaki had never even considered another sort of career. Her mother hadn't exactly approved of her interest in police work, and maybe if she'd still been alive the decision would have been harder; but her father thought it was a good idea, and for the past several years Misaki had been working towards that one goal. "Anyway, it might just be a temporary thing; who knows. Tomorrow everything could go right back to normal."

"I hope so," Kanami said wistfully. "Not much point in becoming an astronomer if I can't even see the stars anymore."

"Astronomer? I thought you wanted to be a biologist - when did you change your mind?"

The timer on the rice cooker dinged, and Kanami went to check on it. "I don't know, a couple of weeks ago I guess." Before biology, Kanami had wanted to study medicine; before that, physics. Misaki hoped that she would at least be able to settle on something once they started college.

"Well, just because we can't _see_ the stars doesn't mean that they aren't still there," Misaki pointed out. "Actually, this would be a great time to go into astronomy, with something unknown to study." She picked up the plate of chopped vegetables to help Kanami assemble the donburri bowls.

"That's true. I'm kind of bummed that the shadow is arriving in the middle of the day - have you seen those videos of the stars disappearing? It looks so cool."

Misaki glanced at the clock on the stove. "Almost time."

* * *

><p><em>1700 HOURS<em>

_Beta-5 this is Alpha-1 come in over._

_Copy Alpha-1 report._

_For the last five hours we have continued on a heading of 270 degrees with 180 degree sweeps. Collecting samples and making observations. According to the map, we have traveled 1.5 clicks due west. Twenty minutes ago we arrived__…resting point. Three times._

_Alpha-1 we lost you for a second there. Please say again._

_We have arrived at our 1200 hours resting point. A clearing with a__…tree stump. Our blaze marks are on the trees leading west, but are absent…path comping from the east. We have left on the same heading…keep finding ourselves here. Landmarks change each time but site is the same._

_Are you having trouble with your compass?_

_Negative. Compass is in good order; the sun is where it should be__…life._

_Alpha-1 you are breaking up. Say again._

_There is still no sign of life. Synchrotron__…levels are now 200% higher…previous reading._

_Copy. Synchrotron radiation levels 200% higher. Readings here have not changed._

_Rodriguez has noticed what seems__…trail of increased…radiation…north…Want to try following…_

_Alpha-1 you have less than one hour of daylight remaining. Return to perimeter. Please acknowledge._

_Roger. 05 degrees 15 seconds north. Will map our route._

_Alpha-1 return to perimeter immediately over._

…

_Alpha-1 please acknowledge over._

…

…

* * *

><p>Kirihara Naoya kept his hands resolutely on the surface of the conference table to prevent himself from fidgeting. This meeting was a waste of time. They'd spent most of the past week planning for the coming of the anomaly, and things were well in hand. He wasn't even sure why he was needed today; he ought to be at home with his daughter. But all of the National Police Agency's directors and chiefs were here, and it would look odd if he was missing. The man sitting across from him apparently didn't want to be there either. He'd been fidgeting absently with the wedding ring on his finger all morning.<p>

"Chief Kirihara," Director Ito said, and Kirihara snapped his mind to attention. "Anything to report from your division?"

Kirihara shook his head. "No, sir. Things are quiet; it seems that most of the criminal organizations are waiting to see what will happen after today."

"Very good. I believe that we're now ready to hear the report from Public Security. Director Hourai, if you would." The NPA director gestured to the man across from Kirihara. Kirihara had met him once or twice; a very hard worker, earnest.

Hourai stood. "First off, I suppose you are all wondering why we're meeting here at the Shinjuku branch office rather than at headquarters in Chiyoda." There was a silent chorus of nods. Kirihara had been wondering that himself.

"The PSB has been exchanging intelligence on this anomaly with the United States and Britain, among others. The origin of the anomaly has been localized to a point seventeen degrees, thirty-four minutes, twenty-two seconds south and forty-nine degrees, eighteen minutes, twenty-nine seconds west. This point is the exact antipode of Chiyoda, Tokyo.*"

Silence greeted this announcement.

"So?" the director of the Traffic Bureau said at last.

"A ground team has been sent to investigate the anomaly in South America," Hourai continued. "They describe a region approximately ten kilometers in diameter where the laws of physics no longer seem to apply. Top physicists are already researching the phenomenon. One, a German by the name of Schroeder, is convinced that a similar anomaly will form at the antipode here in Tokyo when the shadow reaches the city at noon. Specifically, in Chiyoda and the prefectures to the north and east. We are meeting here as a precaution."

There was another round of nods at the table, but Kirihara couldn't hold his voice in check. "And what about the people who live and work in Chiyoda? Shouldn't they be notified and required to evacuate?"

"That would just cause panic to spread," Director Ito said. "While it's not known if this anomaly is in any way dangerous, we must take measures to keep the populace in hand. And that includes preventing panic."

"But what if it _is_ dangerous?" Kirihara persisted. "What then?"

"Then all attempts to aid the people affected will be made. The Imperial family has of course been moved to a secure location. Director Hourai, please keep us apprised of anything new that you learn regarding the investigation in South America. Next I would like the report from Info-Communications…"

As the director of Info-Communications stood to give his report, the teacups on the table began to rattle in their saucers.

* * *

><p><em>0100 HOURS<em>

_Command this is Beta-5 come in over._

_Copy Beta-5 go ahead._

_We lost radio contact with Alpha-1 at 1700 hours. Major Basto indicated intent to continue on a heading of 05 degrees 15 seconds north. It__'s unknown whether my instructions to return to the perimeter camp were received. Hourly attempts to contact Alpha-1 have all failed. Please advise._

_Is there any indication that Alpha-1 is in distress or need of extraction?_

_Negative. Radio appears to be dead or disconnected on their end. We have eyes out for flares but without moonlight smoke signals will be impossible to see._

_Copy that Beta-5. Stay in position and watch for contact from Alpha-1. We will reassess the situation at first light. Radio if seismic activity increases any further._

_Command please say again. Seismic activity?_

_For the past hour we have been detecting steady levels of seismic activity ranging from 3.6 to 4.1 on the Richter scale. Focus is in the vicinity of your location._

_Everything is calm here. Not so much as a puff of wind. Synchrotron radiation levels have decreased to nearly undetectable levels._

_Roger Beta-5. Continue to monitor the situation._

_Roger. Over - wait. Are you seeing this at HQ?_

_Seeing what._

_The light. Like a bright blue beacon shining straight up into the sky from the center of the anomaly. It__'s…._

_/end of transmission/_

* * *

><p>"Did you feel something?"<p>

"Feel what -" Misaki started to ask; then she felt it too. A slight tremor in the floor. The bowls on the counter began rattling.

"Earthquake!" Kanami dropped the rice paddle into the pot and dashed out of the kitchen. "Miko! Turn off the game, get under the table!"

Misaki quickly switched off the stove then followed her friend into the living room. The rumbling was steady now, strong enough to rattle the windows but not so strong that things were falling from shelves. A chorus of car alarms was rising from the street outside. Miko and Kanami were crouched underneath the dining table, Kanami's arms around the boy.

"Is it an earthquake, for real?" Miko asked, eyes shining with excitement. "Will the building fall down?"

Kanami shushed him. "Don't say things like that, we don't want the building to fall! Misaki, come on, there's room for you too!"

But Misaki had paused by a window. "Whoa," she breathed.

The window faced east; she gazed out across Shinjuku, towards the prefecture of Chiyoda in the far distance. Clouds of smoke and dust were rising into the air over Chiyoda, though she couldn't see any fires. There seemed to be an eerie blue glow on the horizon, arcing like a huge dome over a portion of the city. It must have been exceptionally bright to be seen so clearly in the harsh summer daylight. As the trembling of the building began to subside, the glow grew even brighter.

"Misaki, it's not safe, come on!" Kanami begged from under the table.

But she was captivated by the sight. "Come look at this," she said, motioning for Kanami to come over.

"Fine, if it'll get you away from that window. Miko, don't you dare move!" Kanami came up to Misaki's side and gripped her arm tightly. "Here," she said, "I'm looking. Now let's - whoa."

Both girls stared out of the window. As if someone had focused a lens, the strange blue light suddenly snapped into a tight vertical column, like a beacon shining into the heavens.

"What is it?" Kanami asked, her grip on Misaki's arm so tight that she was losing feeling in her fingers.

Misaki could only shake her head. She had no idea.

* * *

><p><strong>*AN: **According to the anime, Heaven's gate and Hell's gate are at opposite points on the globe. Actually, the antipode of Tokyo is in the South Atlantic ocean, not in Brazil. But since this isn't _DtB: Waterworld_, I'll follow the show's lead and fudge the coordinates a bit.


	11. Brigid V

**A/N**: Minor detail change: Tim and Gwenith now live in Southall, not Croyden, because optimustaud is a genius. Also, happy New Year!

* * *

><p><em>News/Current Events/22.06.98/Tokyo, Japan: It__'s been twenty-four hours now since the unexplained spatial anomaly opened in the prefecture of Chiyoda in Tokyo, Japan. Rescue workers are still unable to enter the 78 square kilometer area, either on foot or by air due to focused seismic activity and dangerous physical conditions. The first team of responders who attempted it have not been heard from since they crossed the boundary yesterday. _

_It is unknown how many people were injured or killed; it is certain, however, that not a single person who was in Chiyoda as of noon yesterday has emerged from the wreckage of the city streets, and no calls for aid have been received. With a population density of 6,029 people per square kilometer, the death toll could potentially reach nearly half a million._

_Scientists remain baffled as to the cause of this devastating event, although they suspect that it is linked to the disappearance of the stars. On the question of whether or not Japanese authorities had reason to believe that disaster was approaching, and whether steps could have been taken to prevent it or at least to mitigate the damage, officials are remaining silent._

_In the meantime, friends and family remain ignorant of their loved ones__' fates, and the city has ground to a halt in the wake of the devastation. It's as if the gates to hell have opened here in Tokyo./_

* * *

><p>Brigid stared at the images of death and destruction, multiplied a dozen times over on the wall of television screens in front of her.<p>

"Christ," she breathed. "All those people." Not even during the darkest days of the Troubles had she seen such utter devastation. It was the same footage that all the stations had been showing on a loop since yesterday: a collection of amateur videos captured by bystanders at the edge of the disaster area and first-on-site news recordings. Between clouds of smoke and ash, they showed massive cracks in the pavement of the streets, metal signs and street lights bent and twisted into impossible shapes; and beneath the pixelated boxes were what could only be corpses. It looked like a war zone. No matter how often the reporters and expert analysts dissected the images, the story didn't change. And she couldn't take her eyes from it.

"They're calling it 'Hell's Gate'," Jack Simon said beside her, his tone grave. Except for the two of them, the electronics section of Allders was empty this afternoon. No one in the city seemed to be in much of a mood for shopping.

"Do they know what it is?"

"Not my department," the MI-6 agent said vaguely, then gave a little sigh of irritation. "I haven't spent the past four hours waiting here for you to discuss events half a world away. You're late."

"Hm," Brigid said, her gaze fixed on the televisions. The thought of Simon wandering aimlessly around a department store all morning in that conspicuous white suit and sunglasses would have amused her on any other day, but the images of smoke and that eerie blue glow repeating before her eyes were too sobering. "I told you that I wouldn't be able to set a precise time - I'm sort of in the middle of planning an act of terrorism. There's quite a lot to juggle."

"Yet Fitzgerald doesn't mind you taking time off for some shopping?"

"I needed a new bottle of perfume," she said flatly. "Thanks for calling off the tail, by the way; Dillon or one of the others would have spotted him right away."

"I didn't call him off," Simon said. "Now that I've secured your cooperation, I was able to obtain permission to use more highly trained agents."

Brigid gave him a sidelong glance, then snorted. "Liar. You need to work on your bluffing skills."

A muscle in Simon's jaw twitched slightly. "Has Fitzgerald set the date yet?"

"Tomorrow, at noon. Canary Wharf." She returned her gaze to the bank of screens, and saw Simon's posture stiffen out of the corner of her eye.

"Tomorrow? The last time we talked, you thought it would be weeks away."

"'Now is the time to remind the English that the people of Ireland will not sit idly by while government denies us our rights as a free people'," she quoted. "Dillon thinks that MI-6 and the military will be too occupied with the fallout from the Tokyo disaster to pay much attention to domestic affairs, so he moved the date up." They'd argued briefly about the tact of committing terrorism in the wake of such a tragedy, but Brigid's heart hadn't been in it, and she'd given in quickly. She just wanted this job over with as soon as possible.

Simon sighed wearily. "Well, he's partly right. However, domestic security is still a top priority; the mission is a go."

"How much control do you have over information dispersal?"

"As of now, only myself and my direct superiors are aware of our arrangement; after our meeting today I will inform the heads of police and the military units that we've tapped of the details on a need-to-know basis. I cannot guarantee that the information won't leak down from there, but they will have orders to keep it classified."

Brigid nodded. "Good. We have people in both the police and the army, middle levels. If word gets to them that the authorities know about the attack, they'll know we have a mole in the crew. Even if it doesn't point to me, Dillon will change the plan and you'll lose your chance. I'll lose my chance."

"Who - " Simon started to ask, but Brigid cut him off.

"No names," she said sharply. "If anyone from the crew gets caught during the job, that's on them, not me. You want Dillon; I'm giving you Dillon, no one else. That's what we agreed to."

The MI-6 agent tried unsuccessfully to hide the irritation in his voice. "Fine. What form will the attack take, and where will Fitzgerald be? If you're involved, I'm assuming that there will be explosives?"

The news channel was now showing the footage of the anomaly forming, caught by an amateur movie maker: a storm of dust and debris kicked up by invisible winds swirled up into the air in the shape of a massive dome, like steam trapped beneath the lid of a pot of boiling water, obscuring the streets behind it. People lined the sidewalks gawking at the sight; cars came to a screeching halt. There was a bright blue glow, a flash of light - and when the smoke cleared, devastation.

"This is the tricky part," Brigid admitted. "It'll be an IED carried in a van, set outside One Canada Square. Under the railway station."

"That's the exact same scheme that the IRA tried in '92," Simon interrupted, one eyebrow arched.

"So I've heard; I don't know, I was in Morocco at the time, I think. Or maybe Bulgaria. Anyway, that doesn't matter - we have someone in tower security too, he'll run interference for us at the scene, along with our cop. The van will get through. Dillon is adamant that we don't use a remote detonator, because of the problems that the IRA had previously. It's going to be a mercury flip-switch instead."

Simon's brow furrowed. "Unacceptable," he said. "I'll have to send in the bomb squad to disengage it, and that will tip Fitzgerald off."

"I know, stop interrupting!" Brigid snapped. "Dillon wants someone in the van to make sure everything is set before time; I'll be able to disconnect the timer once the driver is clear. There will be another set of eyes on it during the assembly, so I can't disarm it any earlier." They'd finally settled on James as driver and Patrick as back-up, much to Dillon and Eddie's frustration. But after Tim had so reasonably pointed out that Dillon's face was well-known to the police and MI-6 both, Dillon had conceded. And he was much less supportive of Eddie being in the van without him there as well. How Brigid was going to convince the crew - especially James - that _she_ ought to go in Patrick's place, she still had no idea; but Simon didn't need to know that.

"Dillon will be waiting nearby, somewhere where he can see everything without being conspicuous," she continued. "I won't know where that will be until tomorrow. Once the bomb is placed - and I disarm it - I'll head towards Dillon's location. The police can follow me and arrest him. Better arrest James and me as well, make a show of it. That way he won't suspect my involvement. I'm trusting you not to screw this up for me." She rubbed her temple; she could feel a headache coming on. "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?"

An exasperated sigh escaped the MI-6 agent. On the wall of television screens, a sobbing Japanese woman was being restrained by the police. As Brigid watched, the woman broke free and ran, stumbling, into the wall of smoke. Brigid wondered who she was running to, and whether anyone would ever see her again.

~~~~o~~~~

"Did you get what you needed?" James asked when Brigid entered their flat.

She nodded, and held up the large purse that hid the clothes and perfume that she'd lifted from Allders, and the pair of shoes that Abigail was lending her. "How's the device coming along?"

Patrick looked up from the dining table where he and Eddie were working. Well, Patrick was working; Eddie was chasing a bead of mercury across the tabletop with a pair of tweezers.

"Getting close," the army bomb squad member said. "I followed your instructions with the frame, but it's the wiring next - you ought to do that bit, I'm better at cutting them than putting them together."

Brigid dropped her bag onto the sofa and switched on the telly, then seated herself at the table across from Patrick. He was carefully measuring out portions of gunpowder that Kelly had delivered the day before. That wasn't for the device; it was for cartridges for the crew's small arms - something that Brigid hadn't been too pleased to learn about, but also hadn't been able to successfully argue against. _We never needed guns before_, she'd told Dillon. He'd just smiled at her and said, _Times change, Bridey_.

She glanced at the television - the same reports that had been on at the department store - then the screen suddenly went dark.

"I was watching that!" Brigid protested.

James tossed the remote control onto the sofa, then shook his head. "It's too depressing, love - and you've been watching it all morning."

"James is right," Patrick added."We don't need to be seeing all o'that. Anyway, you need to keep focused or we'll never get the device finished."

"Bridey can throw a bomb together in ten minutes," Eddie said, eyes fixed on the little blob of silver in front of him.

"If you heard that from Dillon, he was just exaggerating as usual. Anyway, this one calls for some extra care, nothing slapdash. Eddie, give those to me." She held out her hand. Eddie looked up from the mercury, then grudgingly handed Brigid the tweezers. She scooped the liquid metal back into its glass vial, then set it aside.

Brigid had chosen their flat in which to build the device; the pub was closed this early in the day, and with the curfew still in effect business was slow anyway. And, Brigid wanted the explosives under her direct supervision. She didn't trust anyone to sabotage the device except for herself. Eddie was there to be their gopher; though so far, they hadn't needed him and he was clearly getting bored.

James pulled up a chair to start funneling the gun powder into cartridges. "Where'd you learn to build bombs, anyway?"

"Um," Brigid said as she adjusted the jeweler's glass that Eddie had brought; Patrick leaned over to watch with professional interest. "I fooled around with firecrackers a bit when I was a girl in Liverpool; then in, I don't know, '83, maybe, we had an IRA explosives expert hole up with us for a few weeks." With the tweezers, she carefully twisted a couple of wires around a screw. "Cousin of somebody's brother's nephew, you know how it is. Anyway, he taught me some tricks; after he left, I kept tinkering."

"Why explosives?"

Brigid shrugged, and picked up her screwdriver. "I don't know - I had a knack for it, and it was something useful for the Cause."

"Dillon always said you just liked to make things go _bang_," Eddie put in. "Like the time you threw a Molotov cocktail through the window of the dry cleaners, because they didn't get the mustard out."

Brigid laughed at the memory in spite of herself. "It wasn't mustard, it was curry. It wasn't even my dress, I'd stolen it for a job. And anyway," she said hurriedly at the sight of the slight frown on James' face, "I waited until after closing and no one was there. I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"Why don't you?" Eddie said, a bit petulantly. "The Cause needs you; it hasn't been the same without you around."

"I have a life with James now," she told him. "We're starting a family - there's no place for revolution in that." She smiled at James over the jeweler's glass, but he returned it only half-heartedly.

Eddie humphed, and pulled out a cigarette. Brigid only realized what he was doing when he held up the lighter; Patrick noticed at the same time.

"No!" they exclaimed in unison.

Eddie dropped the lighter in a startled flinch. To Brigid's relief, he hadn't had a chance to open it.

"Jeez," he said, "I just forgot the _no smoking round Bridey while she__'s preggers_ rule; no need to shout."

Brigid's heart was pounding. "It's not that," she said. "It's dangerous to have an open flame around this much gunpowder; even a trace in the air can ignite, and with all the materials for the device - just the smallest spark - damn it, you could have blown us sky high! Didn't I ever teach you not to smoke around my explosives?" She smacked the back of his head.

"I was _seven_, I didn't smoke then," Eddie said, eyes wide. "Anyway, you never let me anywhere near you when you were working on bombs."

"Oh. Really? That was surprisingly responsible of me."

Patrick gave a soft chuckle, while James raised his eyebrows. "Eddie," James said, "you can smoke on the balcony - it's just through the bedroom."

Eddie left the room, still a little pale at the thought of the near-miss. The others were shaken too, Brigid could tell; they returned to their work silently. She swept her hair back into a ponytail to get it out of her face, and concentrated on connecting the timer (an old digital watch of Eddie's) to the firing circuit, wedged snugly between blocks of plastic explosives.

"I thought you grew up in Belfast, not Liverpool."

"What?" It took Brigid a moment to place James' question into a context that made sense. "Oh. Pat, hand me that screwdriver, will you? No, the small one - thanks. Bit of both, I guess. I was born in Liverpool, moved to Belfast later. I'll tell you about it another time," she promised with a raised eyebrow.

Patrick switched the watch to the stopwatch function. "What time do you want to set?"

"Um…" Brigid sat back and thought. "Eighty-one minutes," she said, and Patrick punched in the number.

Eddie returned as they were cleaning up. "Is it done?" he asked with interest.

Brigid nodded. "Just about. I don't want to attach the switch until we get it loaded in the morning, just to be safe; but we tested all the circuits earlier and they worked fine. We'll put the cover on once the switch is live."

"It's a work of art," Patrick said, taking a step back to admire the intricate web of wires and circuits.

"Hm. I would have preferred to mix up my own blasting material," Brigid said, with grudging pride. She cast a critical eye over the plastique that Kelly had commandeered for them. "But Dillon didn't give me much time to work with. This will have to do."

Eddie was standing well back of the device, she noticed. "How does it work?"

Brigid held up a small glass tube containing a pair of electrodes with two leads running out of it. "This is the switch," she said. "Tomorrow once we get the device loaded in the van, I'll attach this to the timer" she pointed to the watch "and add the mercury to the base of the switch. The switch will be loose; as the van drives, it'll be jostled until it flips over, letting gravity pull the mercury down to the electrodes. That completes the circuit."

"It'll blow while the van is driving?" Eddie asked, aghast.

"Of course not. There's the timer, remember? The switch activates the timer; in eighty-one minutes, the timer goes off and triggers the detonator. And then - bang. Fifty-four minutes from the garage to the target site, plus twenty-seven minutes for traffic delays and time to allow James and Pat to get clear. Any longer and we risk drawing suspicion to it." That didn't leave her much time to disarm it, but she'd just have to manage. Still, it was a bit of a shame; Dillon was right, she'd loved making bombs mostly for the satisfaction of setting them off.

"Eighty-one. Isn't that the year you and my cousin met?"

Brigid shot Eddie an annoyed look. "I don't know; dates aren't really my thing." Had it been in '81? She could measure jobs down to the minute, but could hardly remember the current year, let alone the dates of random events.

"Damned unpredictable things, flip-switches," Patrick said thoughtfully. "Is that what you used at the bus depot in '86? The bomb squad runs training modules based off of that attack."

Brigid avoided James' eyes. "Yes," she said. "It's only the timing that's tricky - once they're armed, they'll go no matter what. We'd better head over to the gas company and pick up the van; just give me a minute to change."

~~~~o~~~~

"Wow," James said when she emerged from the bedroom.

Eddie glanced up from studying their fake wedding photo. His slight frown turned into a look of surprise, and he gave a low whistle. "You look like a completely different person, Bridey."

"That's the point," Brigid said with a heavy French accent, and patted his cheek. She'd chosen a well-tailored white blouse buttoned high to hide her tattoo and a navy blue pencil skirt. An up-do showed off her long neck, and the heels that she'd borrowed from Abs were tasteful yet chic, suitable for an upscale office. Her rosary was around her neck, the cross and single feather tucked into her bra. James was already dressed in a close approximation of British Gas' work uniforms; given more time, they would have stolen actual uniforms. Instead, they just had to make do with what they had.

She lifted an apple from the bowl on the counter and held it daintily in her fingertips. "Shall we go?"

Eddie dropped them off in a back alley three blocks from the gas company's fleet park; he and Patrick would head back to Southall to meet up with the others.

"Good luck," Brigid said, giving James a brief kiss. "I'm glad we're doing this together."

Brigid had been the first to volunteer to be the distraction in the van-stealing operation. "I want to enjoy my sex appeal while I still have it," she'd joked, patting her still-flat stomach.

"I'll go too," Dillon said. Brigid wasn't sure, but she thought that his smile was a little forced. "It'll be just like old times, hey Bridey?"

She was about to agree, memories of the fun they'd had on all those old jobs swimming to the forefront of her mind, when Tim cast her a warning look and said to Dillon, "Do I have to point this out again? Your face is on police suspect lists everywhere."

Dillon just shrugged. "If the distraction is good, no one'll even see me. Especially if it's Bridey doin' the distracting."

He grinned at her - and she remembered Tim's words, and the kiss in the garden the previous night. "Tim's right," she said. "It's too risky for you. James will go with me." Dillon clearly hadn't been happy about that, but he'd conceded without further argument.

"This is just like one of those couple's-bonding activities that Abs is always going on about," she said to James now. That finally got a smile out of him; he'd been so closed off to her all afternoon.

"See you in five minutes," he said.

Brigid kissed him again, and pulled the bill of his cap down low over his eyes, her pulse picking up in anticipation of a new con. "Five minutes."

She walked out of the alley on her own and headed at a brisk pace towards the fenced-in car park where the gas company vans were kept. The gate was open, but there was a little office just inside, with wide windows looking out onto the exit and to the fleet of white vans sitting in the lot. She put just the tiniest sway into her hips as she walked, and pushed open the door to the office.

An unshaved clerk with old acne scars was seated behind a low desk at the back of the small room. There was a board of keys on the wall behind him. He looked up from the newspaper crossword; the expression on his face changed from boredom to fascination at the sight of her. "Er, can I help you, Miss?"

Brigid set her clutch on the desk with an exasperated sigh. "I hope so," she said in her French accent. "I am here about my bill, where is it now?"

"Um, this isn't the place for billing questions," the clerk said as she started rummaging around in her clutch.

"Are you sure? The man on the phone gave me this address. Such a rude man. I need to get this cleared up right away, the charges are all wrong. Ah, so sorry!" As she removed the folded-up gas bill, an open coin purse fell from the clutch, scattering a dozen coins across the desk. Brigid leaned over to start picking them up - just far enough to give a suggestion of breast without actually revealing anything. Cleavage talked inebriated pub patrons into buying more drinks, but Brigid had always believed that true seduction lay in subtlety.

"Er," said the clerk, "don't worry - let me help." His gaze flashed guiltily up to her chest, then dropped to the surface of the desk where he began to collect the coins for her.

The door opened behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Brigid saw a short man in a work uniform and cap stride in. As he walked past the desk, the man reached over and snagged one of the keys from the board, then exited out the back.

"Oh, thank you," Brigid said to the clerk when he passed her a handful of coins. "Just in here, please." She held out the coin purse, the sides gaping open around the central zipper; there was a bead of sweat on the clerk's brow as he dropped them in. "You were saying, I am in the wrong place?" She leaned forward a bit so that he would get a whiff of her new, expensive perfume and renewed hope of a peek down her blouse.

"Uh, yes," the clerk said, eyes fixed on the strand of blonde hair that Brigid had let fall artfully across her face. "This is the dispatch office for our repair vans. You want account services. That's, um, that's…somewhere else. Give me mo', I'll look it up for you."

Brigid waited patiently, standing with her hips angled just so as he leafed through a company directory. In her peripheral vision she could see out of the side window to the fleet; a van was just exiting the lot.

"Ah, here it is," the clerk exclaimed. He wrote out the address and phone number on a scrap of paper for her. Brigid let her thumb brush up against his as she took it.

"Um, er, is there anything else I can, ah -"

"Oh no, you have been so helpful," Brigid said, giving him a kind smile. She daintily opened her clutch and slipped the paper inside. "Thank you so much."

The young man blushed slightly. "Uh, no, thank you," he said nonsensically. Brigid smiled again, and left the office. Even outside, she could feel his eyes on her arse, and grinned to herself.

The white van was idling in the alley where Eddie had dropped them off. Brigid climbed into the passenger seat and laughed. "You should have seen that poor clerk, I thought I was going to have to fetch him a mop! God, I've missed this!"

James didn't answer, just pulled out onto the main road.

"You were brilliant too," Brigid said, reaching over and squeezing his knee. "I don't think he noticed you at all."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "That was entirely your doing, love."

"Are you jealous?" she asked slyly. She knew she ought to tread carefully here, but jobs like this always got her blood up, and she loved James' possessiveness of her. Not that he ever tried to tie her down or stop her from doing whatever she wanted; but after so many years of not belonging anywhere, she never got tired of knowing that someone could feel so strongly for her. She let her hand drift further up his leg.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I'm driving."

"Drive faster."

"Brigid, will you just wait?"

She sighed and took her hand back, then kicked off her heels so that she could wiggle her toes at last. To her amusement, James kept casting worried glances into the review mirror, as if the police would be right on their tail. "They won't even notice it's gone until tomorrow, earliest," she assured him. "We're clear, don't worry. Although, that is a bit disappointing."

"What? Why?"

"Next to an explosion, a car chase is my favorite thing." She giggled at the expression on his face, hoping that he didn't hear the desperate edge to her voice. The excitement that always came with thieving was proving to be a good antidote to the funk that she'd been in all morning, after hearing the news from Tokyo added to the dread of the mission tomorrow. A couple of times she tried to set her hand on his thigh again, but he would remove it with a frown that made her anticipation grow even stronger.

At last, James pulled into a parking garage at Heathrow airport. They drove slowly through the aisles until they found Dennis' old Ford Guardian, left there earlier that morning. James pulled into an empty spot a few down from it; he shut off the engine and unbuckled, then turned to Brigid. "There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about," he began, a serious look on his face.

Damn it, he wanted to get grim _now_? The drive had only made her impatience worse. Before he could continue speaking, Brigid leaned over and kissed him hungrily.

"Brigid, what - " he tried, before she was kissing him again.

"I can't wait," she said.

"What, here?" James asked in disbelief.

She began unbuttoning his work shirt. "There aren't any windows in the back, no one will see." Dillon would have already had her on the floor, skirt at her waist; she had to bite her lip before she could say it. It was one thing to make James jealous of a nameless clerk who didn't have a chance in the world; purposefully making him jealous of Dillon would be a bad idea.

"We need to switch the plates…."

"We have plenty of time. Please - I need you."

James' warm brown eyes were dilated and he was breathing just as hard as she was. "Christ, I love you," he managed, before Brigid was leading him into the back of the van, laughing.


End file.
